Visions of Betrayal & Salvation
by celestial-insanity
Summary: My take on what life in the palace was like before the Hero of Albion's death and her daughter's rise to take the mantle of Hero, saving Albion from her brother and the evil Shadow. Written in response to the NaNoWriMo challenge, COMPLETED.
1. Prelude

I've been around the world.

I've seen a million things.

I've fought in countless wars,

and dined with many kings.

I've seen the northern lights.

I've counted all the stars.

Been in 'n' out of Saturn's rings

and started life on Mars.

I'm fluent in every language.

I've tasted each cuisine.

I've stayed in every palace,

and lived what people dream.

I was there when it began,

and I know when it will end.

My only enemy is man,

yet you are still my dearest friend.

I invented evolution.

I gave you your first breath.

I was there at your conception

and I'll be there at the time of death.

_"Marcus Pete Robert Welfare"_

**PREFACE**

The castle was never completely quiet, of that nobody had any doubt. Her Majesty the Queen of Albion often catered to many guests from around the world, and most if not always they never had quite the right _demeanor_ as a guest of Her Majesty should have. Some were fisher-folk from across the Sea, some were dark-skinned and muscular; others were cloaked in shadow. Jasper hadn't quite gotten used to the fact that Queen Illandere did not have the same expectations of courtesy in the halls as Lord Lucien had demanded, and he wasn't honestly sure which ruler he preferred when it came to common civility. At least when Lucien ruled, there was some expectation of quietness… when he was in the castle, anyway.

"Your Majesty, the mercenaries from Bowerstone have awoken half of the castle," Jasper said, straining as hard as he could to keep an edge of compliance within his tone. It was no good for a butler of the Queen to develop an attitude, no matter how many times she had told him herself how much she would appreciate it if he spoke his views. "Please, the ambassador is making a fuss."

Queen Illandere merely nodded once. She was leaning against the balcony dressed in nothing but her nightgown, her long brown locks of hair falling gracefully over her curvy, muscular features that seemed to glisten with Will. "I will be there soon," she said quietly, looking up towards the large, full moon and it's silvery light. "How are the children?"

Jasper sighed. "Logan is sound asleep, but Princess Darrina is up and about with your dog. The last I saw of them, Madame Loretta was hot in pursuit. Your Highness, I fear that your daughter may end up finding the mercenaries' rooms by herself if she's not careful."

Illandere turned away from the window at once and walked, barefoot, to her armoire. "I suppose we should rectify that matter," she said seriously. "And Logan is not awake, you say?"

"Not a peep," Jasper confirmed. "After spending the entire day playing with the other nobles' children, I suspect he must be exhausted."

"A boy only six years old, exhausted?" Illandere asked archly, raising one eyebrow. Jasper turned away politely, aware that the Queen was not wearing any of her underclothes and her nightgown was _very_ see-through. He could hear her rustling around the armoire, bringing out clothes to wear. There was a soft rasp of metal on leather as she slid her katana into its sheath. "I am ready now," she announced with an edge of humor within her voice. "You may now look at me as you always do, Jasper."

Jasper merely led her to the door. "We must make haste," he urged her. Glancing back, he noticed that she had donned a large overcoat that covered her feminine features, and that her katana was placed on her back on its' customary sling.

Even the thought of what those mercenary misfits could do with the Queen's daughter was enough to make him nervous. He was not a fighter, more accustomed to wielding trays and teapots than something with a blade. If they took the Queen's daughter, or threatened her in any way, Jasper would be merely useless in that plight. "Perhaps we should call the guards," he suggested, hustling to keep up with Illandere's flowing gate.

"All we're doing is having a talk with the men making the noise, Jasper," Illandere reprimanded softly. "If we burst in with an honor guard in the dead of night, do you not think that would make a horrible impression? These are my friends and, as such, will not be difficult in dealing with."

"Then why are you carrying your _sword?" _he asked, dumbfounded.

"I will not go anywhere without it," she said simply, as if she were just talking about not eating bread without cheese. "I have been ambushed in the dead of night before. I was lucky, and though I do not hasten to think that we would be assaulted on this day, you can never be too careful. Hello, Lisella."

"My Queen," Lisella whispered reverently, curtsying as was her duty as Jasper and Her Majesty passed her.

Once they were out of earshot, Jasper started up again. "My Queen, I beg you to at least call upon one guard. Perhaps the head of the security. That Rowle. I cannot help you if those men become rowdy."

"Hold your peace, Jasper," Her Majesty reprimanded. "If you feel you must, go and find my daughter, though I have the strongest inkling that she is in the room with those mercenaries."

"Oh dear," Jasper whispered.

They continued through the warm, cozy halls, each on a totally different emotional mindset: where Illandere was calm and controlled, Jasper could feel his heartbeat continuing to race. The noises from the mercenaries' quarters were getting louder. They were laughing… that was odd. They hadn't been laughing when he'd last put his ear to the door.

Illandere knocked softly, but nobody seemed to have heard. She opened the door anyway, and Jasper felt as though maybe he should be in front, protecting the Queen from danger… but what kind of danger was he expecting? And she, after all, could take care of herself very well without a sword. The door swung open, revealing the long rows of beds that had been specifically laid out for the men. They were all, thankfully, dressed, though poor Jasper had no idea how long this would last—they were all imbibing tankards of beer and, when he squinted, it looked like they were using the castle's own finest!

"Excuse me," Illandere said softly. There was an unspoken power in her words that caught the attention of all in the room, and all of the noise abruptly stopped at once. Twenty large, muscular men placed their tankards on the nearest available surface (without _coasters!_) and bowed low to the Queen of Albion. The Queen, in turn, bowed to them. "I apologize for disrupting your night," she said with a smile, "but perhaps you could help me find my daughter? I believe she may have wandered over here."

There were hurried footsteps from behind them, and Jasper turned halfway to see. Madame Loretta and four of the Royal Guards were bustling over, and Madame Loretta looked like she was in a bit of a fluster. "Your Highness," she gasped, bowing. Her chubby cheeks were red with exertion.

"I'm right here, Mommy," a clear, high voice spoke up from the back. The mercenaries parted to allow the young Princess through, followed by the Queen's faithful hound Marcus. Princess Darrina raised her hands expectantly towards her mother, who knelt down and picked her up as easily as she would a small bag, her arms fitting protectively around her child. "I was 'sploring!" she said happily.

_Curiosity killed the cat, or so they say,_ Jasper thought darkly.

Neither he nor Madame Loretta dared to reproof her in front of the mercenaries, however. Illandere merely smiled and kissed her brow. "Exploring?" she asked quietly. "Did you have fun down here?"

The three-year-old nodded enthusiastically. "It was _fun!_ We played games!"

Illandere laughed. "That's wonderful, but it's past your bed time, young lady. Did Logan notice it when you left?"

"Nope!" Darrina exclaimed happily. "He's sweeping."

"As you should be, as well," Illandere said with a wan smile. "You go with Madame Loretta now and fall asleep, okay?"

"Ok_ay_," she said with a nod and a yawn. Madame Loretta took the sleepy child from Illandere's arms and retreated away quickly, followed by two of the Royal Guards. "Bye bye, Mommy!" Darrina called.

"Goodnight." Illandere and Jasper both waved to the departing Princess, and then the Queen turned to the two remaining Royal Guards and said, "You may return to your posts now, men. I thank you for assisting Madame Loretta."

"Yes, Your Majesty," they mumbled, and, shooting off a crisp salute, they turned on the spot and disappeared down a hallway.

"My daughter did not bother you, did she?" Illandere asked, turning to the assembled mercenaries. "That little one is always out exploring the new guests' quarters. She scared the ambassador just two days ago when she popped out of his closet."

"Oh, please, Your Worship, that little 'un is fine," one of the men said. He sported a rather impressive yellow beard. "Cute, too, 'specially that dog. He yours?"

"Yes," Illandere said with a brilliant smile. "Marcus has been with me for years."

"Right smart doggy, that is," another man reported.

"Yeah, took me 'at right off me 'ead!"

"I was very lucky to find Marcus," said the Queen with a nod. Nobody could be more courteous than her, Jasper thought. She truly was magnificent. "I apologize for not meeting with you today, I've had quite a bit on my plate. However, tonight is not the night for it—perhaps tomorrow afternoon?"

"Whatever time suits you, Your Highness." Their leader, a broad-shouldered man with a rather large mustache, came to the front of the group and bowed low. "Lionheart. Sparrow."

For the first time, Jasper saw a trace amount of surprise flicker over the Queen's face. "It can't be Walter Beck!" she exclaimed with a delighted smile. "Oh, but it is! I had no idea that you would be coming!"

And, to Jasper's shock, she embraced the man as if he were a part of her own family. He clapped her enthusiastically on the back. "It's been a while," he said gruffly. "Life in Bowerstone was too boring without you. Decided to come and see if you needed some help around the castle."

"Of course," she said, "always. You're volunteering?"

"Yeah, why not?" he asked with a chuckle. "Might as well, considering you saved my ass more than once during the fighting."

"I seem to remember you saving mine an equal amount of times," she pointed out.

"The dog remembered me," Walter said with a smile, looking down at the large, graying hound. He panted happily and allowed the older man to stroke his head. "Marcus is getting on in age, but he sure isn't senile yet."

"I'd hope not!" Illandere said, patting Marcus on the back. "Jasper, you may go if you wish," she said, as if suddenly remembering that he was there. "I will see you tomorrow."

"And what about your husband?" Jasper asked pointedly. "I'm sure he will be wondering where you are tonight."

"This man is a friend, and he's saved my life on more than one occasion," she said. "Now, I will come to bed shortly, but there's much for us to discuss."

"I was under the impression that you all would be meeting for the afternoon…?" Jasper asked, torn. "Should I cancel those arrangements?"

"No, keep them," said the Queen. "But I would catch up with my own friends tonight. Business tomorrow. Is that fair?"

"I… suppose so, Your Majesty," Jasper said with a bow, though he didn't want to have his Queen in a room alone with mercenaries. _Don't be rash. It's her choice. And the dog is with her. _"I shall go check on your children."

"Thank you."

Illandere turned about and Walter led her over to a bed for her to sit down. The other mercenaries crowded around in a circle around them, and Jasper was torn. He bit his lip, took one last look at them, and closed the door behind him as he exited.

But what was he to tell the ambassador? The raucous laughter began again, twice as loud as before, and Jasper had the feeling that he was _not_ going to have a pleasant night until he was sure his queen was away from them for once and all. He dithered on the spot, and then made for the ambassador's quarters.

He'd have to have picked up something from Queen Illandere over the years. Hopefully he could placate a well-off man and be done with it.

_Lucien was no good, _he thought,_ but he would have put the fear into them, all right! Darn it, why do I get the feeling that being this woman's butler is going to involve many more things that were not in the job description?_

Thankfully, however, getting that ambassador calmed down proved easy enough. Actually, Jasper didn't have to do a single thing. Apparently Lisella had brought him one of her 'special' drinks that sent him into a deep sleep, so Jasper sincerely doubted that he would be able to hear the loud yells of laughter from across the way.

Jasper wasn't exactly sure if he agreed with Lisella's answer to the problem, but he let it slide for the night—the man got his sleep, and that had been what he was complaining about. He even wondered if Queen Illandere had put her up to it.

He hesitated before knocking softly on the door leading to her quarters that she shared with her husband. "Come in," Byron called. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, reading a small book by candlelight. He wasn't wearing a shirt. "Ah, Jasper! What do you need?"

"It's not me, My Lord, but Queen Illandere," Jasper said. "She is catching up with some old friends downstairs and should not come to bed for quite some time."

"Old friends?" Byron echoed. "And who might those be?"

"The mercenaries who accosted the gate guards this evening," Jasper explained. "They had claimed that they were sent by an old friend to negotiate something of importance with the Queen…?"

"Well, I didn't know that she actually _knew_ anybody there," Byron said with a blink. "That's odd. Any idea who they are?"

"One of them served alongside your wife," Jasper said hesitantly. "His name is Walter Beck, if that rings a bell."

"A very faint bell, but a bell nonetheless," Byron said. He sighed and closed the book. "I'll go ahead and assume I will be sleeping alone tonight. She likes to dawdle."

"That she does, sir," Jasper said, shaking his head. "Very well. May I get you anything?"

"No… but some information would be nice," Byron said, biting his lip. He looked as though what he was about to say had been bothering him for quite some time. "Jasper… I think I'm getting sick."

A cold knot formed in the butler's stomach. "Sick, sir?"

"Aye. Sick. I feel… like something's wrong with me. I'm weaker. My bones are aching. 'M feverish." Byron pursed his lips.

Jasper walked over and placed his palm on the King's sweaty forehead. "I shall call for the nurses at once," he said. "Hopefully it's just a bout of spring fever."

"Might be something else," Byron muttered, but Jasper had already begun to walk away towards the system of bells and pulleys that could alert any member of the staff. He pulled hard twice on the leftmost one and sat down on the edge of the King's bed.

Byron pushed his arm towards Jasper and pointed at it. "I want you to feel that right there," he said, pointing to his bicep. Jasper, frowning, did as the King bade him and was surprised to feel a hard knot there under the skin… in fact, when he moved his fingers around, it felt like a small lump. He felt Byron's other bicep, but the lump was only present on that one.

"That is not good," Jasper muttered. The door to the King's Chambers opened and in came Loretta accompanied by one of the helper boys around the castle. "Madame Loretta—we may have a problem," Jasper said.

Short Loretta listened with a grave face as Byron accounted to her his illness, and Jasper had the sudden, swooping feeling that the nurse knew exactly what he had. When she felt his arm, her fears only looked as if they were confirmed. "A cup of catmint tea it is for the fever," she said, but her brow was furrowed. "And you best drink it all. You go down to the kitchens and prepare it, boy."

"Yes, ma'am." The young boy ran off, and Jasper ran a hand through his long, graying brown hair in agitation.

"I think you have a cancer, My Lord," Madame Loretta said grimly. "I can't do much for it, but I sure will try. I think the Queen should be told immediately—maybe she could—"

"Illandere can't heal sicknesses," Byron said with a shake of his head. "Let her relax with her friends. We will tell her in the morning; I won't spoil my wife's good night with this news. I forbid you both to mention this to anybody until the Queen knows, understood?"

"Yes… My Lord," Loretta said with a frown.

"And you, Jasper?" King Byron asked.

"I will do as you say," Jasper said, though, privately, he didn't agree with it at all. "Though, My Lord, if I may make one quick suggestion? Stay indoors until the fever's passed. Stay in bed and read books, play with your children."

"My children…" Byron whispered. "Yes. Yes, I would like to see them both tomorrow after their classes."

There was a few minutes of awkward silence until the boy came back in, bearing a tray of tea that smelled of catmint. The King drank it, and Madame Loretta rushed downstairs to get a bucket of water and more ingredients. She lugged them both up all by herself and placed them next to the fireplace so more could be made with less fuss, and then she left at the King's bidding to get some sleep.

Jasper floated by the bed, uncertain of what to do or how he should act. He merely stood by the King's side, his hands behind his back, thoughts flying within his head. How would Queen Illandere react to this? How would the _children_ react? "My Lord…" he said uncertainly, but Byron was already sound asleep.

Well, somebody had to stay with him. Jasper sat down at the footstool by the bed and bowed his head, closing his eyes.

A hand on his shoulder jarred him from a state of uncomfortable rest. Jasper twitched and stood up immediately as he recognized the Queen in front of him, accompanied by Madame Loretta. The Hero of Bowerstone merely looked at him and gave him a slight nod, motioning towards the door with her head. Jasper stood and, with Loretta, tiptoed towards the way out.

He turned around just in time to see Illandere, minus her weapons and overcoat, slide gracefully into bed next to Byron and wrap her long, pale and slender arms around her husband's chest. Marcus jumped on the bed and curled up to her with a small whine. He swallowed back his reflex question wondering if she needed anything and closed the door softly behind him.

"This is not good," Madame Loretta whispered as they walked quietly down the winding staircase. "Not good at all. It's too advanced; he must have been keeping this quiet for a while."

"You told the Queen?" Jasper asked in a low voice.

"I waited outside those hooligans' rooms until she came out," Madame Loretta said with a sniff. "What time is it?"

"Late," Jasper said. "Too late for you to be up and about, Madame. Go back to your room. Would you like anything?"

"No, no, that's quite okay, dear," she said distractedly. "You have a bit of a rest, too. I doubt the King will die tonight, after all."

"Don't mention that too loudly," Jasper snapped. "You don't know who might be listening."

He escorted the poor nurse to her room like a gentleman and noticed the little servant boy who'd carried the tea in standing at the end of the hallway, looking uncomfortable. "Sir?" he whispered as Jasper drew closer. "Is King Byron going to be okay?"

_I wish I knew. Some people can survive this cancerous process, can't they? _"I don't know," he said honestly. "But listen, you can't tell a soul. Not even your friends. Do you understand?"

"Yes… yes, sir."

"Good. Now off to bed with you."

Jasper watched him scurry off and could feel a frown pulling at his face. It had to be very late at night, because he seemed to be the only one besides the royal guard roaming about the hallways. He decided to take one last detour: he had, he remembered, been charged with looking in on Prince Logan and Princess Darrina before he'd been distracted.

"You're up late, Jasper," said one of the two guards standing outside their room.

"I was attending to the King on private matters," Jasper whispered. He took a small candle from the wall and poked his head in: Darrina had apparently vacated her bed and was sleeping quite soundly next to her older brother, whose arms were wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

He closed the door as quietly as he could and placed the candle back on it's holder. "Good night to you both," he said.

"Yeah. G'night."

Jasper finally went into his room—very modest in comparison to the others, but still better than anything available within the cities—and lit one single lamp so that he could undress himself in the light. With a sigh, the butler pulled the wrap out of his ponytail and surveyed himself in the mirror. _Bags underneath my eyes, wrinkles, receding hairline… getting old suits me. _

If King Byron died, Illandere would be heartbroken. They'd met even before her little jaunt in the Spire, and there wasn't a love stronger than theirs. King Byron had been merely a farmer when he married Illandere and became King of Albion, but he'd always made an effort to do right by his people. Being the husband of a well-known Hero was a tough job, one he bore proudly.

There was a chance that Illandere would live an extra twenty years due to her ancestry, but King Byron was just as mortal as the rest of them. Illandere never got as much as a head cold, unlike the rest of the people within the castle—stomach flues, colds, pneumonia. Even her children hadn't had a single illness during their short lives—

Though, now that Jasper thought about it, Logan _had _had a bug of some sort perhaps only a year or two ago… and that brought up a black, black question:

Was it possible that neither child were Heroes? Was it possible, just possible, that Illandere was the Last?

Oh, that would just not be good at all. Not good at all.


	2. Friends Reunited

**CHAPTER 1**

Castle Fairfax was among one of the finest Walter Beck had ever been in; the copper surfaces were gleaming, the candles were never out of wax, the servants were friendly, and the food was beyond compare. It was generally hard to impress the large, weary soldier of war, but the Hero had done it. Sparrow—or Illandere, as he supposed he must call her now—had not been any less than a good hostess… to the despair of her butler, Jasper. It was humorous to see the man, maybe only a good decade or two older than he, fuss over her wellbeing every time he left her with Walter and his men alone. Illandere could very well handle herself, though, so Walter didn't think that Jasper had anything to fear.

Besides, even if he could, Walter Beck would never harm Sparrow.

Illandere hadn't been around much of late. Something had apparently come up—a private matter, she said—that needed attending to. She'd been called out of their room by that wet-nurse, Loretta, who looked to be in a bit of a _fluster._ At first Walter was merely amused: was this some ploy to get the Queen out of their clutches? But no, Illandere had taken one look at the woman's face and had gone off with that worried air about her that all mothers get one time or another.

It was a question, then, if she would come out to join him for the afternoon lunch as she'd promised. Apparently it was still on, however, because Jasper had fetched him shortly after breakfast, bade him to get dressed, and led him into the gardens. The gardens had to be Walter's favorite part of the castle, besides the wine cellar. There were flowers of every color decorating the large pavilion, and the soft floral scent intermingled with what the cooks were doing in the kitchen was just _lovely._

Walter was alone, as he had requested. He told the men to go ahead and laze around without him; he was here to talk business now.

Jasper led him to a small table set right in front of a rather small fountain, laid out already with two plates and goblets. Obviously Illandere was expecting their meeting to be a private one as well.

"That is a rather impressive scar," Jasper noted, helping him out of his jacket. "I do hope there's a good story attached with that."

Well, the man was at least trying to appear civil. That was sure nice of him. "That one's from Bloodstone, when the Spire Guards tried to capture your Queen." The scar was a half-inch wide, glossy and white, and stretched from the middle of his back and onwards towards his jaw. "We showed them who was boss."

"Indeed you did, sir," Jasper said. He placed the jacket over his arm and retreated a few steps—close enough to be of service, but not close enough to give the impression that he was willing to stand around and talk.

_Bloody butlers, _Walter thought humorously. _They think they have all the class._

He sat down and was prepared to ask him what, exactly, they were planning to eat since the plate was empty, but the soft sound of a door closing from the top of the pavilion garnered his interest. He glanced up, peering beside the fountain, and noticed Illandere, dressed in a gown of soft white and red hues, descending the stone stairs. Her long, mahogany brown hair was tied into an intricate bun behind her head, and she was smiling that brilliant smile of hers. "Thank God, finally, I'm free," she joked, taking a seat across from him. He had automatically moved to get up and bow, but her hand stopped him. "Oh, please stop that, I'm still Sparrow to you. Though the perks are nice, I don't like it when people bow to me. It's strange."

Her voice had slipped out of the polite, though reserved tone she'd had with him in the mercenary quarters. That was nice, he thought privately. He preferred her voice to be exactly the same as he remembered it—just as capable as soothing a beggar as it was to order a platoon of men.

"I can understand," Walter said automatically, a smile crinkling his eyes. "Good to see you haven't let royalty change you."

"There are better things for that, I think," she said ruefully. "Being a mother is hard work. Being a wife? Harder. Being Queen of Albion is much more demanding, and I take whatever moment I can to cherish my free time among friends and family."

"You're talking more like a Queen now than you did way back when," he noted.

"Force of habit," she apologized. "But you came here to talk business, right?" He nodded. "Jasper, can you please fetch us some beer? The Oakvale brand, please."

"Certainly, my Lady," Jasper said with a bow. Walter watched him, curiously amused and somewhat embarrassed—he certainly didn't want a _butler_ waiting on him. It didn't feel right, especially when he could just go and fetch the damn thing himself. He stopped himself from offering, though, knowing that Illandere felt that way as well and to complain about it would only make her feel badly. _Yes, I still know you, Sparrow. You're still the same old caring, ballsy sod you were three years ago. _"Would you like some snacks as well?" Jasper offered courteously.

"Yes, please," she said with a smile. When Jasper left, Illandere buried her head in her hands. "Now you see what I have to put up with."

"I've known it for a long time," he said seriously. "Sparrow, look—I know that we haven't seen each other in three years, but I want to stay here with you. It's high time I helped you out—you've helped _me_ out a great deal."

Their last meeting wasn't going to be something that Walter would ever, ever forget, and neither, apparently, could Illandere. Her cheeks flushed scarlet and she bowed her head. "Walter, I doubt that I could have you here on my staff without somebody throwing a fit."

"Balls," he objected. "Since when did you care about something throwing a sodding fit?" he asked sharply. "Look, you need a few extra hands. Me and my men will fight for you. I gathered them up, the best ones I could find, all for you. Don't make me say why."

"Walter…"

"Take the offer," Walter said quietly. "Take it. I don't know about you, but I think a father should see his own daughter more than just once in the dead of night."

Her jaw worked for a moment, and to his surprise he saw her eyes glisten momentarily with tears. "You cannot say that again," she said without looking at him. "Promise me that. Nobody should know, not even Darrina. I'm not ashamed of you—far from it. I love you. You know that. But just because you're staying here doesn't mean that you may use that information for blackmail or… or for…"

"Shh, shush, shush," he said soothingly, reaching across the table to place his hand on her shoulder. "It's just between you and me… she sure is a pretty baby."

Illandere nodded, a smile that trembled only once on her face. She finally looked him in the eyes, and she seemed to gather her confidence about her with one deep breath. "Darrina is my love and my life," she said proudly.

"She has my eyes," Walter pointed out, excitement bubbling in his chest. "She mostly looks like you, though."

"She also has your disdain for rules," Illandere said wryly. "I'm lucky that she took on most of my traits. I don't think I could hide the parentage if she suddenly spouted a beard."

Walter chuckled, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Jasper descending the stairs, bearing a tray. "Look," he said quietly, "I'll talk to you more about this when we're alone, but I'm not going to get between you and Byron. What happened between us was just something that happened once. I won't put you in a bad position because of this, even though my feelings haven't changed a bit."

"Thank you," she whispered. She cleared her throat, and then said in a slightly louder voice, "Now, about you and your men—I assume you are all fully equipped?"

"Aye," he said, well aware that Jasper was getting just close enough now to hear the snatches of their conversation. "So we are. Everybody's loyal to me, and I'm loyal to _you_. They'll fight to the death for both of us. My suggestion? Keep them together—they're used to fighting as a group—and keep me at the head. We'll take any job you want us to."

"Any job?" she asked archly, slipping back into that Queen voice of hers. "What if I were to send you to the distant lands—Aurora, for example?"

"Then we'd only ask for a water bottle each," he said with a wink.

She laughed jovially, but he could tell that there was tension beneath it. Jasper, though, probably could not tell, which was all good. He set the tray down in front of them and placed their meals upon their plates before pouring them both a very generous amount of the old Oakvale Stock wine. "A very good year, I must say," Jasper said, examining the bottle as he poured. "I believe this was bottled before your trip to the Spire, my Lady."

"If it's that year, it was," she said with a nod. "Though I prefer not to remember those times, myself."

"Of course, of course," Jasper replied with a nod. "I understand completely."

And then Walter suddenly noticed that somebody was missing. "Oi, where's Marcus?" he asked, glancing around. "That dog never leaves your side."

"He's still in my bedroom, sleeping," Illandere said. Yes, something seemed to be very wrong indeed—Marcus never, _ever_ left Illandere's side for any reason at all. Illandere was careful to avoid his eyes and watched Jasper pour the bottle with a light smile upon her face. "Wow. I've been wanting to crack open that bottle for a while—it smells _delicious._"

_Classic change of subject. You're too easy to read, my Queen…_

Unless she dropped these deliberate hints to throw him off. She was a crafty lady and he didn't put it above her.

"Thank you, Jasper," she said when he was done. "We'll be fine, now."

Walter could almost predict what the man was going to say next: "Are you sure you do not require me any longer?"

"No, but you've been a wonderful help," she said. "Right now I think I just want to have a conversation with a friend I haven't seen in ages."

Jasper merely bowed and glided away. Illandere abruptly ducked down and removed the small slippers she'd been wearing, tossing them to the ground in distaste. "Finally. You have no idea how difficult it is to walk in those."

"Where's some of that Hero dexterity, hmm?" Walter asked, stroking his mustache as he examined the shoe. Wow, she really _did_ have some big feet. They had to be around his size, or perhaps even a size bigger. "Oh, please, there aren't even any heels on them! You're telling me you're having trouble walking around in _slippers_?"

"I still go out riding once a week," she retorted. "Less and less now of late, but still—I try. It's nice to get back into the old clothes, riding out of the castle with Marcus. Just like old times. Sometimes I visit towns across Albion to deal out justice personally… though, honestly, it's more of an excuse for me to get out than it is for dealing easy judgment."

"You're busy," Walter said with a chuckle. "You became Queen of a land, and you thought you wouldn't be busy?"

"Being Queen was the only choice," she reprimanded. "There was nobody else in line to take the throne, and nobody would give me a moment's peace! I was already the de facto head of Albion, but the people wanted me to take the chair."

"Because the people love you," Walter said. "Because they know that they have a leader who has a good head on their shoulders. You're not Lucien."

"I am never going to be like Lucien," she whispered. "Ever. And if I ever turn out to be that way, I want somebody either to kill me or shake some sense into me."

Walter didn't much like the sound of that, but he went with it anyway. "Sure, I can do that," he said offhandedly. "What'd be the best way to shake sense into the woman who led a rebellion?"

There was a warm glow in his chest when she laughed. "Just remind me of what I used to be, and that should do it," she said. "But I doubt it'll ever come to that. Power doesn't hold sway over me. The only reason I stay now is because now, even six years after everything, nothing is set. I'm still dealing with the wrongs of Lucien, and I think that these will all transcend my life."

"Which would mean your son would be in line for the throne?" Walter questioned. He was careful to phrase it by saying _your son_, because, in essence, it was true. Prince Logan had no sort of relation to him whatsoever, though he still felt that same, fatherly urge to see him at least once.

Being in the castle, close to the Prince and Princess, would be enough of a job for him. He couldn't imagine a better one.

Illandere nodded. "Logan is my heir," she said, "as much as I dislike the term. It's hard enough raising one child, but somehow I think it's worse when he knows that he'll be leader of a nation one day. It's not something a kid should be concerned about."

Walter nodded. "Seems to me like any of your kids would do a fine job," he reasoned. "You're worrying too much."

"I worry all the time."

"Why were you called out of the room last night?" he asked suddenly, grasping at the hint of indecisiveness. "Something was wrong."

"Everything is fine," she said. "Security-wise, at any rate. Byron is… sick."

"Sick?" Walter repeated. That was not good. The repercussions of the King's death were a bit too much for him to grasp. "How bad?"

"We think he has a cancer he's kept quiet about for… at least a month, maybe two."

_Oh. _Implications began running through Walter's head, each one worse than the last. Cancer wasn't a curable disease, and he knew better than anybody that the Hero, for all of her traits, could not heal another person. "What are you going to do?" he asked in a low voice. After all, he could ask that, couldn't he?

"I don't know," Illandere said, shaking her head. "I've long ago accepted that Byron would die before I did, but I didn't think it would be this early…"

Walter wanted to reach across and pat her on the shoulder, but, unsure of where he stood, he didn't make that move just yet and just watched her as she slowly gathered herself once more. "That's why Marcus is upstairs, watching over Byron?" Walter guessed.

"Yes. He's a good dog."

"You should go and be with your husband instead of talking to me," he reproached her.

"No," Illandere said. "The sickness is slow. He's resting now, and I already made a promise to meet with you and others today. I'm going to carry it out." She smiled a little bit. "And right now you're the only one keeping me _sane_, so you'll excuse me if I keep you past our scheduled amount of time."

"We'll just tell the others that we were negotiating fiercely, then," Walter said playfully.

"_Very _fiercely," she said. "They might last another hour."

"Oh really? And what may it take to convince you that my services are worth taking, Your Majesty?"

"Tell me about yourself. Tell me everything that has happened in the last three years."

"Is that an order?"

"Would making it an order help you _do_ it?" she asked.

And they talked until late afternoon, the sun shining, birds singing, and nothing at all amiss in the world except for a sick man at the tallest tower resting next to a large, old guard dog.

After that one conversation, Walter never saw much of the Queen of Albion. She disappeared, cloistered into meetings among meetings, and Walter was given leave to wander Castle Fairfax with Sir Quentin Rowle, the current head of security. They both got along well enough, but Rowle was a bit too pompous for him, he thought. It was obvious—to Walter, at least—that Rowle was merely a stand-in, and Illandere must have taken care of most of the arrangements herself. He had a good heart, though, and despite the rather self-gratifying air about him, Walter knew that he'd be handy in a fight.

His men were no longer called mercenaries and were decked out in the garb of the Royal Guard, given their orders, and they set on to it. The change seemed to take most of the castle regulars by surprise, because Walter caught more than a few suspicious looks their way as he made his rounds, familiarizing himself with the layout. It was only natural, he supposed – he would be suspicious, too, if some strange men were automatically given high positions among his Queen's court.

Illandere was held in high esteem among everybody at the castle, as Walter learned over the next few days. She commanded an air of righteous respect, always calm, always just. Her anger, he'd been told, was never shown. She kept her political enemies at bay and her friends close, though there weren't many of the former. Anybody who dared be an enemy of Illandere was, by default, an enemy of all civilized people in Albion.

The castle security wasn't too much different than the security he'd ran around Reaver's old place in Bloodstone all those years ago. Hours turned into a week, and Walter had never been as comfortable at his job than he was now. There was no mention of Byron's ill health, and in fact the man had even come down a few times to talk to him, as happy and normal-looking as though there was nothing wrong with him at all.

It was on the tenth day, however, that he saw the Prince and Princess. He was outside in the gardens eating with two of his men on lunch break when he heard them both laughing and the gleeful panting of the dog, Marcus. He turned around, chewing on a piece of venison, when he saw the two of them out of the corner of his eye.

"Looks like the Queen's kids are checking us out again," Variel, his right-hand, muttered slyly. It was always _The Queen's kids, _or _Illandere's children –_ never Byron's. He wondered sometimes how he must feel about that.

At six years old, Prince Logan was already walking with a straight back and royal bearing, his nose held high in the air with cool acceptance that he was better than the others and knew it. He was holding his sister's hand – _Darrina's_ hand – firmly in his. His hair was straight and black as coal, as his father's was, but he could see some of Illandere's features in him. Darrina, only three, was prettier than her surlier-looking brother, and her hair, just a shade lighter and hanging past her shoulders, had a softer wave to it than his.

It looked as though the two of them had been laughing before but were struggling to stay quiet and somber as they approached – that didn't stop Marcus, however, who trotted over happily and rubbed his head against his leg.

"Hi," Logan said shyly, gripping his sister's hand more firmly.

"Hi," Darrina said, even quieter.

"Hey, there," Variel said affably, wiping his hands on his tunic leggings before extending it to shake. "I'm Variel."

Logan took his hand somewhat hesitantly, though Walter was amused to see his chest puff out as he realized that he was going to be treated like a man. "_I'm_ Logan," he said proudly. "Why are your clothes all dirty? Were you playing in the dirt?"

_Eh, close enough. _"Been practicing," Walter said with a smile that made his eyes crinkle.

"Practicing with swords?" Logan asked, his eyes widening a little bit.

Beside him, Rupert nodded. "Aye, swords and such. Flintlock pistols. We have to stay sharp in case somebody attacks the castle, see."

"Don't go making the boy paranoid, there, Rupert," Walter reprimanded. "Be nice."

"What?" Rupert asked, spreading his hands out wide. "That's why we do it, isn't it?"

"But we're not doing it _only_ to keep the castle safe." The boy was young – he needed some sort of role model to look up to and aspire to be. "We're training to keep _Albion _safe in case somebody attacks her."

"Why would somebody attack Albion?" Logan asked worriedly.

"Nobody's going to attack while your mother's in charge," Walter said reassuringly. "Don't worry about it."

"But what if they _do_?" This seemed to really upset him.

"If somebody attacks Albion," Variel said, "then they'd have to get to your mother. And to get to your mother, they'd have to get through us, too."

"And if by some tiny chance they get through us," Rupert put in, "then your mother will take care of the ones we left for her."

"Mommy can't fight, she's a _Queen,_" Logan said, as if that explained everything. "Only Kings can fight."

"Momma's a _Hero_," Darrina said. These were the first words she'd spoken since he'd last seen her, and to hear her voice made him jump a little bit. She glared at her brother. "Heroes kill e'vrybody."

"But Mommy's a _girl_," Logan instructed her. "Girl's can't fight. Boys protect them."

Darrina frowned. "No…"

"I saw your mother take on an entire group of Spire Guards on her own once upon a time," Walter said seriously, looking Logan in the eye. There was no way he was going to leave the child with the impression that women were any less capable than men… especially when they were talking about _Illandere._ "You don't have to wear the uniform to be a soldier," he said. "They come in all shapes and sizes."

"Could _I _be a soldier?" he asked.

"Yes, you could be, very easily," Walter said. "But not yet. Too young."

"Can, too," Logan said, raising his nose just a little higher. "I'm a _Prince,_ and I'm gonna be _King_ one day."

"That's not a fun job, being King," Walter told him. "Do you see how busy your father is all the time?"

"Daddy isn't busy _awl_ the time," Darrina countered in her high, young voice. "He's sick," she said in a low voice.

"You weren't supposed to tell _them_ that," Logan growled. He released her hand and bonked her on the back of the head.

"Ow!" Darrina cried, moving away from him.

Walter grabbed the boy's hand so quickly his arm appeared to be a blur and pulled the boy close. "Do not hit your sister," he said seriously.

"Let go!" Logan cried, attempting to wriggle away.

"No, I need to tell you a secret," Walter said, keeping his tone calm and reasonable. "You're not supposed to hit girls, understand? Soldiers don't hit girls, it's mean."

"But she _told_ you," Logan argued.

"That doesn't mean that you have to slap her," he said. They locked eyes for a good two seconds, and Logan finally dropped his in defeat. "Okay?" Walter said gently, releasing his grip. "This is one of the things you need to learn if you want to be King. Now… what do you say?"

Logan sighed and turned to Darrina, who was glaring at him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Darrina was a good few inches shorter than he was, but that only gave her enough height to reach her target. Her fist lunged forward and hit Logan right where it counted. The young boy cried out in pain and crumpled to the ground, clutching his privates, and Walter couldn't help but laugh as Darrina ran away as fast as her short stubby legs would carry her.

"Why was _she_ allowed to hit _me?"_ Logan cried, his voice cracking upwards an octave. "Y-You said—"

"Girls can hit men," Walter said, reaching down to pat his shoulder, "but nobody should hit them back. Take a second to recover; it wasn't that hard of a blow."

Logan sniffed in pain and Walter could see it coming about a second before it happened – he let out one sob and a chain reaction followed. "I want Daddy," he whimpered, bringing his knees to his chest.

Walter shot Rupert a sideways look: the younger man had turned away and he his head muffled against the crook of his elbow as he struggled not to laugh out loud. Variel, eyes shining with suppressed mirth, seemed to be having trouble concealing a smile that was threatening to burst through. Even Walter had to cough to disguise a chuckle that would've surely demolished the boy's fragile emotional shell right then.

Walter was really impressed that his men had made it thus far without laughing at the poor boy. Logan squirmed around for a while trying to get some semblance of control over his pain, and, finally, he stood up and seemed to debate running away.

Walter decided to give him an excuse to run if he wanted to: "You're alright," he said with a smile that was _definitely_ not faked in any way, shape, or form. "She surprised you, that was all."

"Yeah," Logan grunted, his voice wobbly with suppressed stress. "I-I'm gonna go see if Madame Loretta needs my help."

He turned right around and ran away, and the three of them held their silence for a good three seconds before the door to the castle closed and they broke into hysterical laughter. "That is _definitely_ the Queen's daughter!" Variel hooted.

"His face was _priceless,_" Rupert snorted. "He dropped to the ground like a _rock_."

"Poor, poor boy," Walter said, his stomach muscles aching with mirth. "That's going to scar him for the rest of his life."

"His very short life, if that sister of his puts him through his paces like that," Rupert pointed out.

"Well at least we would have another able-bodied Queen to take the throne should that arise," Walter said, "though I'd rather not have a tot leading this country just yet. Let's drink to Illandere… and hope that she lives long enough to teach her heirs the subtleties of politics and a good beer."

They raised their glasses, and as Walter brought his beer to his lips he couldn't help but think about that perfect punch Darrina had executed, flawless with precision, and _way_ stronger than it should have been. She was her mother's daughter, all right… but in more ways than just one.

He couldn't wait to watch her grow up. He was going to enjoy it.


	3. A Funeral for a King

**CHAPTER 2**

King Byron of Albion passed away in the middle of the night two weeks later. Walter didn't hear many details from the staff, except that Queen Illandere and Jasper had been with him to attend to his last needs. The King probably couldn't have been conscious enough to appreciate the gesture, but he would have, Walter was sure. And if he hadn't appreciated _that_, then the damn well would have been impressed with the funeral. It was a closed-casket ceremony, where the coffin was placed on an ornate table in front of his throne. Those who wished to come and pay their respects gathered in one long line that stretched all the way down to the front gates, and these well-wishers left flowers, folded notes, and other assorted goodies right there at the coffin's feet. What would happen to all of them Walter had no idea, but he knew nothing bad would go on regarding those. Illandere was fair and generous, and despite the loss she continued to be the model hostess, being firm and polite when she had to be and excusing herself when she knew that her fabled self-control wouldn't last much longer.

Walter had figured the poor woman would snap on more than one occasion, but nothing had happened. It was refreshing… though worrisome. He stayed a distant figure in the processions, though, leaving her emotional well-being to Jasper as he scoped out any possible threat within the crowd. With the extra security near the front, Walter doubted anybody would try and force their way in through there, so he focused on the secret passageways Sir Rowle had pointed out during his first tour. He stationed five of his men to guard the general area of each one, and the rest were with the Prince and Princess in the gardens.

Near the end of the day when the sun was casting a golden gradient throughout the sky, two of Byron's guards took the casket to the patio and laid it down in front of that fountain he and Illandere had dined at before. The children were allowed one last look at the King before the coffin was again sealed and placed on a high stone table.

All was quiet in the night as they all watched, transfixed, as they set the coffin just right upon the table. Stillness hung in the air, and then, with a few, quick footsteps, Illandere walked forward dressed in a practical pair of riding clothes. She bowed her head and stroked the top of the coffin with gloved fingers, whispering words that couldn't be heard. The hand stroking the coffin began to glow with a soft, luminescent blue light and Walter heard the coffin catch on fire.

"Goodbye!" Illandere shouted suddenly, and the entire coffin was wreathed in flames. Smoke billowed up from it and towards the sky, casting a black, black shadow upon the sunset.

Walter moved without thinking of the ramifications of his actions. Reaching out, he placed a hand on the Queen's shoulder as she stood there, head bowed, still as a statue, as her husband burned before her. "Hey," he whispered. "Come here."

Illandere melted underneath his touch and pressed into him, her shoulders shaking with the sobs he knew she wouldn't cry out loud. He hugged her until, a few seconds later she gained control of herself and drew back. She didn't even look at him as she squinted towards the flames. "And now he is gone," she whispered.

"It's not your fault. You couldn't have fixed it." The words were heartfelt and _true_, but they still felt hollow coming from his lips. "And the only way you can bring him back now is unethical. Let the dead sleep."

Illandere turned away from the burning pyre and went to her children. Darrina hid in Logan's shoulder as she approached, her chest heaving up and down with sobs of terror, and Logan stared up wide-eyed at his mother like he'd never really seen her before. "No, go away!" he yelled, stumbling back. "Go _away!_"

"Logan?" Illandere questioned. She extended her hand forward. "Logan, come here, honey. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

And then, in front of all of the onlookers, Logan yelled, "Stay away from us!" He took Darrina's hand and sprinted off through the crowd. Walter gave chase, slipping through the assorted peoples with easy grace. Sir Rowle called out something from behind him, but he paid no heed.

He followed the two of them into the hallway and was surprised when Logan whirled around, his face streaked with tears, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Go _away!_" he ordered in a shrill voice.

"Now, now, don't be hasty," Walter said, spreading his hands out shoulder-width apart. "It'll be okay. Let's talk about this."

Darrina was crying softly at Logan's side—he wasn't sure if she truly understood what had happened, but she was smart enough to pick up that something had enraged her brother. "G-go away!" Logan repeated, backpedaling several steps.

They were in one of the outer hallways, close to the pavilion, and Walter could already hear some of the guards beginning to jog their way. Walter, following his instincts, knelt down on one knee and extended a hand, holding Logan's eyes seriously as he tried to project an outward aura of calm. "Let's talk," he said quietly. "I just want to talk. Explain."

"I want Daddy," Darrina sobbed.

"Daddy isn't coming back," Walter said quietly, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. "Let's go to your rooms and talk. Okay, Prince Logan?"

Logan's lower lip trembled and he finally sniffed, nodding. "F-fine." Walter got up slowly as to not disturb the young boy too much and took his free hand.

Darrina detached herself so she could stand in front of him and raise her arms expectantly. Walter bent down to lift her up with one hand, and she gripped tightly around his throat like she was expecting to be dropped. "Why was Daddy in the box?" she whispered in his ear.

Walter sighed and didn't answer, and Darrina began to cry again. He led them back to their room on the second story, grim and determined, nodding shortly at the guards who eyed them suspiciously. The two standing in front of their room saluted quietly, and Walter merely opened the door and led Logan over to the bed. He sat down heavily and put his head in his pillow to cry freely. Darrina unwound herself from around his neck and permitted herself to be dropped gently on the soft mattress.

With another sigh, Walter sat down on the edge of the bed and massaged his temples. "Your father is dead," he said quietly. "He's been sick for a while, remember?"

Logan nodded against the pillow.

"He didn't want to leave you," Walter said. "He never would've wanted to leave you, but he didn't have a choice in the matter."

"Why _not_?" Logan argued. "Who does?"

"His body gave up," he said simply. "The body and mind are two separate things, you know. You have your mind, which is _you_ in essence, and then you have your body, which is just basically some… crazy way for us to express our minds. Right?"

Logan didn't answer.

"So," Walter continued, "even though he wanted in his mind to stay, he couldn't because his body had reached the end of it's term. It happens to everybody."

"It's unfair," Logan whispered, his voice muffled against the cotton.

"Death is fair and unfair," Walter said, and then, softer, "I'm sorry for your loss. The King wouldn't want you to be sad, though."

Logan sniffed loudly. "Then why'd Momma do that? Why'd she set him on fire?"

"Because there was a chance that the disease could still be transferred to somebody else," Walter said quietly. "We wouldn't want anybody else to get sick. Like you, your sister, the people at the funeral…"

"How did Momma do that?" Darrina asked, crawling on to his lap.

"She's a Hero," Walter said. "She can do those things."

"But she set him on fire without a match!" Darrina argued. "She _asked_ somebody to do it."

"She didn't have to ask anybody," Walter said, shaking his head. "She can call on that power whenever she wants because she's a Hero."

"She burned up Daddy because she _asked_ someone," Darrina reiterated.

"Well what do you mean?" Walter asked.

"She didn't ask anybody," Logan muttered miserably. "She just went and did it because she's a Hero."

"But…"

"Just shut it!" Logan burst out. "_She_ burned him up, okay?"

"Now you just wait one minute," Walter said quietly. "Your mother didn't kill Byron."

"I _know_, but she still burned him up!" Logan said. "Why couldn't we bury him?"

"Because burying him wouldn't have done any help," Walter replied. "Somebody could get sick from the body."

"But Madame Loretta and _Jasper_ aren't sick," Logan shot back.

"Madame Loretta is keeping a close eye on herself and the butler," Walter said. He'd met Madame Loretta a few days prior to the funeral—the short, chubby woman was nice and easygoing, though being nursemaid to the two children seemed to require an extraordinary amount of energy. "They're both going to be fine."

"But why'd they _burn_ him instead of burying him?" Logan asked.

"Because if you buried him, more people would be in contact with him," Walter explained. "It's easier this way. When you burn something, you destroy all of the bad things. That's why we cook our meat, see, and that's why we boil water before drinking it."

"Is that when the bubbles come up?" Darrina asked.

"Yes, it is," he said, cracking a small smile. "So instead of putting him in the ground, we just burned him to make the bad things go away."

"Why are the bad things there?" Darrina questioned.

"The same reason _we're_ here," Walter said. "You want the bad things to not be there all the time? Some of the bad things are good."

"Like beer?" Logan asked unexpectedly. "I heard that do something to make it full of bad stuff."

"Why do people drink it?" Darrina asked.

_Takes the edge off,_ Walter thought. "Because they want to," he said slowly. "Maybe you'll understand when you get older."

"Fine," she grumped. Her voice still sounded shaky, but Walter was concentrating so hard on trying to emit a calm, knowledgeable posture that she was beginning to look as though she were feeling a mite bit better. "Is Daddy gone forever?"

Walter pursed his lips and nodded. "Yeah, he's not coming back," he said gently, "but that shouldn't mean that you have to be sad. He's still with you."

"Where is he?"

"He's not here," Logan muttered. "He's never coming back, and Walter's lying through his teeth. Daddy died and that's that."

Walter sighed. "I understand what you're going through—believe me, I understand it. I've lost friends and brothers fighting for your mother all those years ago. Some of them went mad – some of them were killed. The fact of life and the fact of the world is that you can't control anything. You can try and influence the directions things are headed, but really you're as stuck up in the muck as the rest of us."

"How did they die?" Darrina asked quietly, looking at him with those serious brown eyes of hers – those serious brown eyes of _his_, though he was careful not to think of that too much. It would be better for all of them if he kept _those_ dangerous thoughts out of his head. Darrina could never know – it was between himself and Illandere.

Walter found himself having an issue finding the words. "It's not… nice," he said lamely. "When people die, you feel different. Like something's bearing down on you. If you see them die – see them die in pain, and in fear… well, it's something else entirely."

"They were 'fraid?"

"Yes, they were very afraid," Walter said. "Big, strong men with tattoos crying on the battlefield when they lost their arms. Lord Lucien was _relentless._"

"They were _crying?_" Darrina asked, her eyes widening.

Walter nodded. "Indeed they were. Everybody is allowed to cry now and then, you know. Even me! I cried just a few weeks ago when that idiot Variel hit me right in the balls!"

Darrina burst out laughing. "In the balls!" she crowed.

Walter glanced at the door out of habit and was unsurprised to see one of the guards smirking a little to himself. "You _probably_ don't want to go around saying that to the guests, today, Princess," he remarked. _Though it would be funny… okay, it would be downright hilarious. _"Actually, I only think you should say that phrase around the soldiers."

Logan had started to cry again, and Walter had to turn around a little bit to get enough reach so he could pat the boy's back. "Go away," Logan sobbed. "That's an order."

Darrina crawled off of his lap and went to sit next to her brother, who turned away from her in despair so he was facing the wall. "Why are you crying?" she asked, concern apparent in her young voice.

"Because Daddy isn't coming back!" Logan exploded. "And if you loved him you'd be crying, too!"

He felt a shadow in his peripheral vision and glanced up, startled, to see that Illandere had appeared there, quiet as a specter. She merely made a motion with her head, gesturing for him to leave, and he took Darrina's jacket off of his lap as gently as possible. "I think your mother wants to talk to you," he said quietly, setting it over her shoulders. "I'll see you two later."

As he exited, he noticed that the two soldiers had disappeared. "Sparrow," he said quietly, tipping his hat in her direction.

She didn't answer, and merely walked past him into the room. The door shut behind her, and Walter was in the hallway, then… alone.

With a sigh, he went to find the rest of his men and get a situational report. He still had a job to do, after all, one that didn't deal with the whimsical wonderings of the Afterlife or politics.

He checked in with Sir Rowle and maintained his guard post, but he couldn't get the conversation out of his head. It was a bad thing for a soldier to be preoccupied at a time when so many people were within the castle walls, and even though he forced himself _not_ to actively think about it, it still slipped past his mental walls. What was, he thought, the best time to teach a child about death so they weren't scarred for the rest of their lives? What was the step-by-step guide for bringing up a privileged boy and girl? The two of them were Heroes, of that Walter knew had to be true since Illandere was their mother, but just because you were a Hero didn't mean that you weren't privy to the highs and lows of every man in existence.

Hammer had gone on a rage when Lucien killed her father; Reaver had been a cold-blooded pirate; Garth had been a mystical man engaged in books and science to the exclusion of all else. Even Illandere had been driven by the urge for revenge against a death in her family – when Lucien had killed Rose all of those years ago, the death of her sister had caused her to nurse a deep resentment that had eventually manifested itself in the great quest that she undertook to dispose of him.

Illandere – and he would never think anything bad about her – had her own faults and her own issues to deal with, and he knew that she was just as lost in the world of parenting now as she'd been on day one. People would look to her to remarry and produce more heirs, but the poor woman was probably past that stage in her life, now. How old was she now, anyway? Thirty-five? Thirty-seven? She didn't look it, but the years weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Without Byron, the Queen was going to go through a great turmoil. People would leap at the chance to court her now, and the political pressure would be very strong indeed.

And if Illandere died, Logan would be next in line for the throne despite his young age. Walter was sure that wouldn't happen, though. First of all, Illandere _couldn't_ die of anything less than old age. She was, after all, the same lady who defeated an entire army of Spire Guards at Bloodstone, infiltrated the Spire, and caused all-around chaos for the leaders of Albion. Secondly, even if such a thing did happen she was sure to leave instructions. Logan would probably not take the throne right away – the country would be handed over to the Queen's advisors who would make the choices, and then perhaps given to Logan when he reached manhood.

It was not a good situation. Not a good situation at all.

They watched the rest of the people finally trickle out, a guard's worst nightmare, and Walter instructed his group of men to go search the rest of the castle. They found three men, all there of their own separate volitions, and put them in the dungeon after confiscating the candle-stick holders and spoons they'd heisted. All in all, less trouble than he'd been expecting… and after living at Bloodstone, you expected a _lot._

Darrina and Logan were not to be seen for the rest of the day, though Walter spotted Illandere bringing up a few plates of food around dinner time. They must have eaten in there, together and away from everybody, and Walter felt for her. He really did.


	4. I Wish

**CHAPTER 3**

**Bowerstone Old Town  
Twenty-Seven Years Ago**

Rose's shoulders were tensed, awaiting the blow. "Sod off," she whispered in a fierce tone. The older boy's sneer only deepened, and Rose felt a flutter of fear in her chest. "You don't want anything to do with us," she said, clenching her fists in a gesture she hoped was intimidating.

"An' you wanna know what I say to that, girlie?" Higgins growled, his freckles darkening not in rage, but in excitement. There was a sudden muffled sound of flesh on flesh, and Rose was on the ground trying to fight the darkness threatening to claim her. Startled tears came to her eyes, but they passed quickly. She could hear them laughing above her, and she realized he'd kicked her skirt up further than was decent. "Oh nice," the fifteen-year-old boy guffawed.

"Rosie, Rosie, are you alright?" Through the black spots in her vision Rose could see the familiar warm brown eyes of her little sister. There was a sudden movement–Sparrow was pulling her skirts back down.

"Oi, you're screwing mah view!" Higgins snarled, and she heard his friends chuckle in anticipation. Sparrow suddenly squealed and landed next to Rose in a huff, groaning. It was that sound of pain that brought her back with a sudden sharpness of mind that quickly gave way to red.

She got to her feet, glaring, scarlet-faced, at the bully. "Looks like she's gonna beat yah up, Higgins," one of the boys crowed.

"She could try." Higgins was laughing openly now, and it fired Rose up like nothing she'd ever felt.

"Don't. Hit. Her!" Each word was punctuated by a step forward until she was uncomfortably close to his onion-smelling skin. "Go AWAY or I swear to God I will..."

"You will what?" Higgins countered.

Sparrow got to her feet with agonizing slowness, clutching her stomach. She was breathing in quick, shallow gasps Rose didn't like, and she backed up to place her arms around her. "Come on, guys, we'll visit 'em later," he said, chuckling. The group moved off, and as soon as they had rounded the corner Sparrow let out a long, shuddering breath.

"You're bleedin', Rosie," she whispered, staring up at her sister with wide eyes that somehow contained no hint of tears. Still bent over slightly, she reached up to touch Rose's temple. The hand she withdrew was stained red.

"You always bleed more on your head," Rose assured her, though it was beginning to sting in the cold. The snow fell in a soft blanket around them, penetrating the heavy clothing she wore as if it were thin silk robes. Sparrow was still grimacing, and Rose was automatically concerned. "That pig, he's going to get killed one day, mark my words. Come on, let's bring you home."

Sparrow nodded, leaning against Rose for support as they made the long, slow slog through the snow-covered alley. "Are you alright, little Sparrow?" she asked, concerned. "How hard did he kick you?"

"Hard enough," she muttered. "I think... I think he just bruised me up really bad. Nothing's broke."

"When we get back I'm going to take a look at that," Rose said determinedly, her jaw set. _I'm only twelve, though... what if he hurt her bad? _"I can't believe he'd hit two girls! Where are his parents? Where were the guards?" She descended into fuming silence, her eyes shooting daggers at any boy that happened to be down their way. When they reached their small, modest wooden shelter built near the edge of the cliff Bowerstone Old Town sat on, Sparrow laid down on her tiny roll-out mat.

"That's better," she said, staring up at the ceiling. "It doesn't hurt as much anymore."

"It might just be a bad bruise, you never know," Rose said, though she didn't believe her words until she lifted up her jacket and shirt to take a look. She kept her face carefully under control when she saw the motley assortment of blue and purple marks centered on the spot where he'd hit her. "Yes, I think you'll be perfectly fine." It was an effort to keep her voice from shaking with suppressed anger.

"Told you," Sparrow sung, and lowered her shirt. "It's colder today, isn't it? The snow's fallin' even more."

"Yeah, I know," Rose muttered. "I don't like it. If it gets any colder, I don't think we can stay here much longer."

"You worry too much, Rosie," Sparrow told her, her high voice a contrast with her tall, lean frame. "If we move out of here Higgins will get it, and I don't want him gloating. Can't we try and stay here through the winter?"

_I wish Mister Owen was back_, Rose thought depressingly, remembering the nice warm fire in the caravan, the stories, and the food. _It was nice having somebody looking over us for a change..._ But Mister Owen had to leave on a long journey, and Rose was sure he'd forgotten all about them. She made Sparrow lay down for a while and made a small fire out front with her two lucky rocks, and then brought out two worn, cracked cups.

"Yum, tea," Sparrow said happily when Rose pressed the warm cup into her hand minutes later. She'd used one of the last teabags she had and steeped it nice and long in Sparrow's before giving it to her. "Mhmmm."

Rose laughed at Sparrow's exaggerated expression of delight. "Don't try to make me feel better," she told her, smiling. "I'm all right."

Sparrow just shrugged and took another hesitant sip and glanced out of their shelter, down at the sun setting behind Castle Fairfax. "Don't be mad, Rosie," she said finally. "We can take them, can't we?"

Rose just pursed her lips, and, lost deep in thought, she stayed that way until nightfall.

~~~~

Sparrow's bruises looked worse the next morning, and Rose didn't miss the flash of pain in her eyes when she walked around. She refused to lay down, so Rose made a fire near the edge of the cliff and made her sit next to it. Rose had a throbbing headache and the blood had crusted down the side of her neck as she slept, and it was proving a pain to get off. Sparrow was helping her heat some water to wash it off.

Squeezing out their worn-out, dirty rag back into their small metal bucket, Rose scrubbed at the dried trail on her neck, wincing when it pulled on her hair. "It doesn't look that bad, does it?" she asked her sister anxiously, glancing down at the rag.

"Do you really care what you look like that much?" Sparrow asked curiously, without any venom in her voice.

"No, it's just..." Rose sighed, giving up. She stared longingly over the snowy landscape, over towards Castle Fairfax miles upon miles away. She sighed dreamily, dabbing at her neck halfheartedly. "It looks so pretty in the snow, doesn't it?" she sighed.

Sparrow took a breath, as if she was going to answer, and then jerked so violently that Rose jumped. Without regard to her ribs, she ran her fingers through her thick, mahogany brown hair, shaking something white and gooey out of it. "Ugh, gross," she complained.

Rose looked upwards, catching sight of a handsome-looking sparrow flying away, and began to laugh despite herself. "Well, I hear that's lucky!" she said, giggling. "But I think I'd rather take the four-leaf clover."

Sparrow growled something unintelligible in her throat and stole Rose's rag. She began to wipe her hair with it, her face a study of revulsion. "I don't want poo in my hair. It stinks."

"Only for you," Rose said gently. She took the rag from her hand and finished the job for her. Sparrow endured it stoically, and Rose felt a smile grace her lips again when she realized that she was objecting to be mollycoddled. _Oh, but if nobody does then you won't have lived, wouldn't you?_ Rose kept at it longer than she needed to until Sparrow shifted her weight and said, "I'm not taking a _bath_, Rosie."

"Wash your hands where you touched it and I won't hold you to it, then," she said good-naturedly. She sat back down, looking back at the huge castle that dominated the scenery. "I wonder what the grand dining hall is like right now... I bet Lord Lucien is having roast duck by this time of year."

"He's probably really lonely," Sparrow said emphatically, washing her hands in the warm water over the fire. "Ever since his wife and his little girl died... I'd be really sad if you died, Rosie."

"He's probably really lonely," Rose whispered, "all up there in that castle, all alone. If only we could live there..." Sparrow took a quick, long look at something over her shoulder, and Rose mimicked her. Down at the end of the alley, a crowd had amassed, talking eagerly to each other. "I wonder what's going on. D'you think...?"

Sparrow picked up on her train of thought and stood unsteadily. Rosie took her hand and they made their way towards the crowd. Rose spared one more glance at Castle Fairfax as they walked, but she soon became so focused on the crowd that all thought of the castle flew out of her mind. It can't be a fight. Is somebody dead? They sound excited, though... It proved nothing–most people in their part of the neighborhood were happy if a kitten was cut in half by an ax.

The people on the edge of the crowd were peering up greedily at what she soon deemed to be a traveling merchant's stall. The crowd was so thick that Rose couldn't squeeze through, but Sparrow let go of her hand and slipped through a few cracks in the bodies until she was standing next to a purple-robed woman. With one glance up her hood Rose confirmed she was blind–those sightless white orbs were hidden underneath her cowl.

"Sparrow, what do you see?" Rose asked curiously.

Sparrow peered around the rear end of a pompous lady neither of them liked, then shrugged. "They look like junk. Can we stay, Rosie? _Please_?"

Rose sighed, rolling her eyes. Her sister's appetite for new and foreign things was insatiable. "Only for a little bit, okay?"

Sparrow smiled brightly and turned back around, peering through cracks to take a look at the merchant. Rose was left trying to stand up even higher on her heels, trying to find the man's face among the people. "A-ladies and a-gentlemen!" he boomed, his deep voice capturing the attention of those even on the other side of the road. Rose glanced around quickly, hoping Higgins wouldn't show up, and refocused her attention.

"I have acquired mystical and mysterious artifacts, which I now offer to you for the modest price of five gold!" Oh please, Rose muttered under her breath. A swindler if she'd ever seen one. There was movement, and then, "Consider this! This is _truly_ a magical mirror. For as long as you look into it, it shall make you beautiful!"

Almost immediately: "I'll take it!"

The merchant laughed. "Charming, charming. Now remember, the magic only works in complete darkness!" Now more movement–when Rose looked over at Sparrow, she had disappeared to the front of the crowd. Rose could just pick her out by those ridiculous patchy boots she wore sticking out among the ladies' high heels. "Now this is truly a marvel. This small, unassuming music box is actually a device created by the Ancients, as used by the Old Kingdom rulers themselves. Just twist the handle three times and it will grant you a single wish!"

"Oh God, not this," Rose muttered, rolling her eyes. "There's no such thing as magic."

An unfamiliar voice spoke next to her, in the guise of the purple-and-white-robed woman: "We live in grim times indeed," she mused, "if the young are too world-weary to believe in magic." Rose looked up at her, surprised to see that the blind woman had turned her way. Her robes were heavier than they looked, she suddenly noticed. "Most children your age believe eagerly."

"Rosie! Rosie, can we get the box?" Sparrow was suddenly at her shoulder, grinning widely up at her. She didn't even look at the purple woman.

"I don't think we can afford it, Sparrow," Rose said gently. Then she turned to the woman. "Look, I can see your eyes are bad, but that music box is rubbish."

"That's what the seller thinks," she said in a voice so low that Rose had to strain to hear it. "But he has no idea on what it is he's stumbled upon. But you have an inkling, don't you?" Sparrow was frowning, listening intently, when the woman turned to her. "Some part of you wants to believe it's magic."

"What...?" For the first time, Rose felt the first beginnings of doubt. "Do... d'you really think it could be?"

Behind them, the merchant was going on about a pair of magic socks ("Keeps your feet clean for weeks, eliminating most foot fungus!") and she wondered if that only settled her point. But the woman was so sure, so... positive. A small smile flittered across her mouth, and she turned around to walk away. "For five gold coins, you could have your answer..."

"For five gold coins, we could eat for a week," Rose muttered.

"Listen to me Rose, at the end of that week you and your little Sparrow would be no closer to that dream, no closer to the inside of that beautiful castle."

Rose watched her walk away, hardly aware of the crowd behind her breaking up as the merchant finished his speech. "What is if is real?" she whispered, her mind filled with spinning visions of the grand dining hall, the roast duck... A warm fire every night, a bed, not being pushed around by Higgins... "Five gold coins really isn't that much, is it? I have two already..."

"I have two, too," Sparrow said, gripping her hand. "Please, Rosie. I can get a pie off of Missus Shaw for discounts, she told me so yesterday. It'll be fine."

"But we're really tight on gold," Rose muttered. She glanced at the departing woman, then looked down at Sparrow's pleading face. "Okay, okay, fine.. We just need one more, then. That should be easy enough, right? We'll just do an errand or so... What's the harm in that?"

~~~~

"Yeah, m'warrents blew off all the way down that alley. Think you can take care of them for me? There's five in all, and I can pay you a gold piece for each you find."

Sparrow and Rose exchanged an excited look. "You have a deal!" Rose told Derrik, looking up at the guard with a smile on her face. "We'll find them, sir!"

"Good girls, you are," Derrik said, smiling brightly. "I'll be right here then."

Rose and Sparrow left, feeling more buoyant than ever. "We need to find them all," Rose told Sparrow sternly, "or we can't pay the merchant. Okay?"

Sparrow opened her mouth to answer, then stopped dead in her tracks, frowning. "Is that... is that a dog?" She took off without another word, sprinting for the alley.

"Wait! Wait, Sparrow!" Rose struggled to catch up with her, suddenly glad that most of the snow had evaporated by now on the cobblestones. Sparrow disappeared around a corner, and Rose heard shouting. "Sparrow! Wait UP!"

A circle of younger boys were gathered around Higgins, recognizable by his vibrant red hair and freckles. He was bent over, holding a club in his hand, and for a moment Rose thought he was being sick–and then she noticed that dog cowed in fear in front of him, whining through its' muzzle. Sparrow pushed her way to the center of the crowd. "You STOP that right NOW!" she yelled, her tiny voice sounding even smaller as she shouted–which was no mean feat.

Rose picked up her pace. _You idiot! Don't provoke him_! For the first time since they left, Rose noticed a stick Sparrow had threaded through her belt, sharpened to a point. The realization hit very suddenly for Rose, and she shouted, "No!" to no avail.

"And what're you gonna do about it?" Higgins laughed, and his club connected with the dog's left leg with enough force to bring him to the ground.

Rose had never seen Sparrow lose her temper before–she looked quite demented. She took out the large stick she'd brought with her and swung at him with all the weight her tiny body could put into it. The wood connected with Higgins' head with a solid thump that even Rose could hear. The boy stumbled for a moment, but Sparrow hit him again and again and again, sparing no mercy for their tormenter.

Their _former_ tormenter

"Oi! Oi! Leave me alone, you nutter!" Higgins yelled, falling to the ground. She hit him once again for good measure, and (Rose couldn't believe her nerve) spit on his face. As one, the smaller boys cheered and Higgins began to crawl away as fast as he could.

"And you don't bother us again!" Rose shouted after him, before turning to her little sister. "I could have taken him, you know..." Sparrow didn't look at her, and Rose noticed the slight tremor in her hands. She was clutching the stick with bloodless knuckles, and she could see the unfamiliar tint of fear in her eyes. "That was really, really very good Sparrow," Rose whispered, trying to cheer her up. "I'm glad you did that, honest. He deserved it."

Sparrow shook her head, refusing to talk to the group of boys, and Rose guided her gently over to the dog. "Oh, you poor thing," she whispered. "He was really mean to you, wasn't he?" Rose held out her hand hopefully, palm up, and felt the dog's nose brush her fingers. He came forward slowly, as if surprised by this display of kindness, and Rose pat him on the head. "You're a good boy, aren't you? That's a good boy. Come on and pet him, Ilandere."

Rose barely used Sparrow's real name, and the shock of it must have broken through her fear. She held out her hand as Rose had done, then joined in petting. She buried her head in the dog's fur, to her dismay, and kissed him. "I like dogs a lot," she said. "This one is really pretty."

"I'm glad you heard him, or else the poor thing would probably be dead," Rose said sadly. "I hope you really scared him off, but it's too bad I didn't get a chance at him..."

"I got really mad," Sparrow whispered. "Nobody should pick on animals like that. It's mean, Rosie. And then what he did to you yesterday, and pulling up your skirts..."

Rose's face glowed crimson at the thought. "I'm proud of you, I really am," she said, hugging her close. "That was a really brave thing you did. Really."

"But you always say not to lose my temper," Sparrow protested weakly. She seemed to be determined to find a fault in her actions, but Rose couldn't find one. In truth, the older girl was just as stunned as Sparrow. _How could I miss that? I knew she had an edge, but he's fifteen. Five years older than her...  
_  
The dog whined a little bit through his nose, and then he licked the blood off of Rose's cheek. She laughed, petting him more vigorously. "Who's a good boy? Who's a good doggie?" she asked, grinning. "Hey, Sparrow–"

"Can we keep him? Please." Sparrow looked frantic, as if she didn't expect the dog to survive the night... which he probably wouldn't, considering Higgins' temper. "He can have some of my food, and he won't cause too much trouble. We gotta protect him."

"Sparrow, we can't protect every stray in the world," Rose said gently. "We barely have enough food for ourselves."

"I'll get a job," Sparrow promised. "But... I just don't... I don't want..."

She was having a hard time finding the words, and Rose knew how she felt. She pursed her lips, wondering at this new complex addition to their day. The dog whined a little bit as if he knew what they were talking about, and finally Rose said, "Okay. We'll keep him for the winter."

"Thank you!" Sparrow looked radiant, and she hugged the dog closer to her. "What should we name him? There's no collar."

"He looks really dignified… like a Marcus," Rose said, looking into his milk-chocolate eyes. It was true–the dog, obviously still young, was enormous. She could barely imagine what a beast he'd be as he got older, and she hoped he'd already stopped teething.

"How about Lucien?" Sparrow asked breathlessly. "He's a nice guy, and then we can be with him whenever we want..."

Rose was about to answer, but there was a movement out of the corner of her eye. "A warrant!" she cried, standing up. She trotted over to the other side of the alley, holding up the heavy paper writing. She scanned it and rolled it up, placing it in her inside pocket. "We have to find the rest, c'mon."

"Come on, Lucien!" Sparrow said happily, and after a split second of hesitation the dog followed, panting wildly. "Show him the paper, Rosie, maybe he can track down others."

"No way," she cried, affronted. "He might start chewing on it!"

They questioned a man by the name of Barnum if he'd seen any more warrants, but he seemed more interested in taking a 'picture' of them with his new invention. It resembled a box with four supports keeping it aloft. In the middle, a glass orb stared at those on the stage in front of them like a large fisheye. "Oh, come on, kids! I'll give you a gold piece!"

Rose and Sparrow couldn't get on the stage fast enough. "Now smile!" they heard him say. "One, two, three!"

On three, there was a sudden blinding flash of light and a click. It took all of her willpower not to bring, but Rose felt her smile slip down a little bit. Sparrow's eyes were screwed tight seconds after the light, blinking furiously. "I see green spots," she said, wide-eyed. She followed the invisible spots around with her eye until they disappeared. Rose knew what she meant–it wasn't quite unlike the feeling she got when she stared at the sun too long.

"Now we just wait three months for the pictures to develiphy and I'll 'ang them up as my first official testers! 'ere's your gold, ladies..."

"Three months?" a woman in a revealing outfit asked suspiciously. "I always knew 'e was all weird, that Barnum..."

But Rose and Sparrow didn't care. They had their one gold piece, now enough to buy the music box and still having more left over, but Rose still wanted to find the remaining warrants. The rest of the day went with surprising ease. There was no trouble from Higgins and they managed to do a few more errands for gold. Rose was feeling extremely pleased with herself, seeing as they never really had a lot of money to their name anyway.

"Here are your warrants!" Rose said happily, placing all five into the guard's hand.

Derrik looked very pleased with events, and placed five gold pieces into Sparrow's hand. "That's a very good job, girls, a bloody good job. Now maybe I can get these guys once in for all..."

"Always a pleasure, sir," Rose said, curtsying. "Come on, Sparrow, let's get that music box!"

Despite herself, Rose was feeling excited for once. They bought the delicate silver box off of the trader, Murgo, and took it back to their home. The fire was still burning, amazingly, and Rose felt the entire day had gone extremely well. Even Sparrow beating up Higgins was only icing to the cake, as some foreigners put it.

"The trader said only three turns would do it," Rose breathed, and grasped the handle. She looked up at Castle Fairfax and felt a resolve she'd never known burst forth. With agonizing slowness, she twisted the handle around one, two, three times. "I wish, I wish..." I wish that Sparrow and I lived in Castle Fairfax and were treated like royalty.

The top of the box opened at the end of her third turn, and a sweet music began to fill both of their ears. Sparrow, who was clutching the dog with both hands around its neck, closed her eyes dreamily.

_La, la, la, la, la la, la-la-la-la, la la la la la la..._

Then, to Rose's amazement, the music box began to rise by mere inches off of the stump they'd set it on. The music went faster, a brilliant light erupted from the top, and the music drew a crescendo–

and then nothing.

The music box was gone.

Rose stared at the empty space, uncomprehending, and felt hot tears slide down her face. Sparrow buried her face into the dog's fur, giving her time enough to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. "Wh-what happened, where did it go?" Rose whispered to herself, not expecting an answer. _A piece of old rubbish, that lady was playing us_, she thought bitterly.

"For a moment there... for a moment there, I thought we'd be leaving this place behind," Rose whispered, struggling not to cry again. "What a load of dung." She rested her head against her knees, deep in thought.

"Let's just go to bed, Rosie," Sparrow said sullenly. "We still have some gold left, after all..."

"I'm sorry, Sparrow," Rose muttered, but stood up. Castle Fairfax stayed there, continuing to mock her from a distance, and suddenly she hated that building with every damnable fiber of her body. She walked away towards their shelter, shaking with disappointment.

"It's not your fault, Rosie," Sparrow whispered from behind her, glancing over at the Castle, too. "Come on, Lucien, let's go see your new home."

At least Sparrow had something to look forward to, Rose thought bleakly. As she lay down on the sack-cloth cot to go to bed, she turned away from Sparrow and let the tears run anew on her face.

_I wish, I wish..._


	5. Betrayed

**CHAPTER 4**

Rose jerked awake, her eyes snapping open in unison with her mental jolt. _What...?_ Heart beating, she squinted through the darkness, aware of a sound she'd never heard this close to her before: the sound of a dog growling.

Her first thought was for Sparrow, and her eyes automatically went to the small figure staring wide-eyed at her from her cot. Their dog, their loveable stray, stood guard at the door, haunches raised, ears flattened, and looking like he was in a genuine _bad mood_. But he wasn't growling at them, which had been her first thought, and she was relieved by that, only to suffer a crushing dread.

If the dog wasn't growling at _them._..

"Oi, oi, good doggy. Nice doggy," came an older voice, and Rose could almost picture Derrik the Guard raising his hands in a placatory gesture. "Don't eat me, doggy." There was a slight movement, as if he were shifting around to get out of the dog's threatening range. "Rose, are you in there? Rose, Sparrow?"

"Good Lucien," Sparrow whispered, threading her fingers through the dog's lower coat. "Come on, it's alright, we know him."

The dog whined a little and pressed itself against Sparrow's side in what was obviously a defensive gesture. Rose, touched and a bit confused, staggered out into the moonlight. "Derrik? What're you doing up this late?"

"Urgent request from Lord Lucien," Derrik said, eyeing the dog out of the corner of his eye. He growled in reply. "You're to go up to the castle immediately, at his request. That's all they told me, and I dun' know why. Does that 'un bite?" He pointed to the stray with a look of slight revulsion on his face.

Rose looked up at Derrik with wide eyes, hardly daring to hope. Had the box actually worked? _I'm dreaming_, she rationalized. _I'm dreaming, aren't I? I'm going to wake up and Sparrow will still be hurt and that dog's going to have pooped in the shelter..._

Rose gave herself a hard pinch on the arm, as hard as she dared, and felt the pain all too clearly. "Sparrow, get up!" she hissed, smiling so wide that it hurt. She rushed over, pulling her sister up. She barely noticed her small squeak of protest. "We're going to Lord Lucien's castle! It worked!"

Her excitement was infectious; Sparrow's eyes widened comically, and she bent down to retrieve her jacket which she'd been using as a blanket. "I knew it'd work!" Rose squealed, dragging Sparrow out of their home. The stray began to follow, looking hopeful, but Rose stopped it with a forceful motion of her hand. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to stay here for a while. Okay?"

There was a small whine from behind his muzzle, and he bumped his nose against Sparrow's butt. "No, no, you can't, doggy," Rose said, her regret defeated by pure bliss. Sparrow's face crumpled just by a fraction, and she knelt down next to the dog's head, whispering in his ear. Rose, impatient, tugged her sister free. "Come on! We're going to the castle!"

"'Bye, Lucien!" Sparrow called, waving her free hand as they rounded the corner. Rose was shaking, actually shaking, at their luck, at the magic music box that had granted their wish. _It was really worth it after all... I can't believe it! Castle Fairfax!  
_  
Derrik wasn't alone, Rose soon found out. Standing at the end of the street corner, dressed in navy-blues, were guards she'd never seen before. Judging by the fine weapons on their belt, though, they had to be–

"Lucien's guards," Sparrow whispered, awed.

"Are you ready to go to the castle, madam?" one of the guards asked, smiling at her enthusiasm.

"Yes, please," Rose said, grinning that wide smile of hers.

_Lucien's castle! I'm going to live in a castle!_

She took one more look at the horizon, looking up at the large, bulbous moon shining behind the turrets of their destination. It was really, really late at night, she noted, but maybe it just took a while for Lucien to send people to take them to their new home. With her hand vice-like upon her sister's wrist, it was impossible to miss the longing look Sparrow threw back in the general direction of their shelter or the way her feet seemed to hesitate when the stray dog she'd named Lucien let out a long, lonely howl.

~~~~  
**Two hours later**

"Oh my... oh my goodness, it's bigger than I'd ever dreamed," Rose breathed, her eyes brimming with tears.

Castle Fairfax was surrounded by a large, ever-encompassing garden the spread miles out in either direction and filled to the brim with the most beautiful flowers Rose had ever seen. Pinpricks of purples, pinks, red, oranges, whites, greens, and blues filled her vision with a riot of color that was not in the least overwhelming. Their poignant smell filled her nostrils with a pleasant scent she'd never experienced before, sweeter than she'd ever smelled before. She took deep breaths, feeling lightheaded as she did so.

The moonlight shining upon the flowers gave them an eerie, light blue effect that made it all the more beautiful. "It is so lovely here, isn't it little Sparrow?" Rose asked, wrapping an arm around her little sister's shoulder. "Imagine living here, being in the gardens every day! I could paint the flowers!"

Sparrow nodded vigorously, staring wide-eyed at the landscape around her. It was truly a beautiful sight at night, the flowers almost leeched colorless by the moon, which seemed to be shining so brightly this night. "Oh, I could lay here for hours," Rose whispered to her.

The castle loomed up ahead of them, so tall that she had to crane her neck to see the top. It was a masterpiece of architecture, built in stone so strong and beautiful that it was nearly impossible to think that it hadn't been on this world since the beginning of time. The stone steps leading to the Grand Entrance were many and definitely not for the faint-hearted. Sparrow, despite her enthusiasm, lagged behind their guard and panting. When Rose reached the first out of two landings and looked back for her a pang of great concern filled her heart. Sparrow was clutching at her chest.

"Oh, are you sure he didn't break anything?" Rose whispered when the girl had finally caught up, breathing heavily. "You've been downplaying it again, haven't you?"

Sparrow had a habit of downplaying any type of hurt she'd come by, and Rose hadn't even bothered to check the bruise to see how it developing before they went to bed because she had been so sad and angry at herself. Now that she thought of it, she realized she'd never even felt her chest for broken bones and had gone on sight–and Sparrow's word–alone.

"Maybe a little bit," Sparrow whispered, her face contorted in pain. "It hurts a little bit when I breath, is all. Don't have a hissy fit."

Rose was perfectly within her rights to have a hissy fit but chose to stay quiet, overwhelmed as she was by the castle's magnificence. She just placed an arm under her sister's and helped her along the last flight of stairs, glancing around as she did so.

"Look at those doors!" Rose whispered, almost screaming with delight. The doors were large and painstakingly carved, made of a resilient wood she'd never seen before. "I bet nobody has a front door like that in Old Town!"

Derrik opened the door, beckoning the two inside. Lucien's guard waited outside and didn't come in before the door closed. Derrik was saying something, but Rose barely noticed–she was trying not to cry in pleasure. _God help me, is this for real?_

Instead of going all the way through the ornate, red-carpeted hallway and to what Rose believed would be the throne room Derrik took them through a side passage no less ornate that eventually gave way to a long, spiral set of stone stairs that put every second-story house owner to shame. "Nice, aren't they?" Derrik asked, his first words since they'd left. He got awful sick on carriage rides and hadn't risked opening his mouth on their entire trip. "A bit too gran', though, if you're askin' me."

"I think they're just lovely," Rose whispered, and began her ascent.

When the reached the top landing (also dominated by a huge door that looked like it had taken two giant oaks to build) the two doors seemed to open of their own accord. Standing in the middle of an ornately-furnished hallway boasting fragile wooden bureaus and priceless paintings was a man Rose could only describe as dapper.

"Ah, Jeeves. We've brought the gals, as promised," Derrik said, nodding.

"Lucien's butler," Sparrow muttered low enough so only Rose could hear, and Rose's smile possibly grew larger at the mention of it. We're _about to see him! I'm going to meet Lord Lucien!_

"Ah, yes, the children," Jeeves said, and Rose couldn't help but notice how his white walrus mustache wiggled as he spoke. "Thank you, Derrik, Lucien conveys his gratitude."

Rose was shaking with excitement, and took deep, discreet breaths to calm down her heart. "It's nice to meet you, sir," she said breathlessly, smiling. "This is the biggest place I've ever been in, but it's probably hard not to believe that, since we came from Old Town..."

"It must be a shock," Jeeves said dryly. He seemed to err on the edge of indifference and warm hospitality, and Sparrow made a face when he turned around to lead them through the hallway. "Lord Lucien is in his study working, which is right at the end of this hall... oh, Garth, hello."

Rose struggled to control her expression. Sparrow took a hesitant step in the new arrival's direction, her hand half-raised as if she wanted to call the male over to her, but dropped the hand and began to swing it back and forth like a metronome. Garth was tall and mocha-skinned, his white hair braided tightly to the top of his head. A monocle hung over his left eye, hiding it from view, and he walked with his head down and hands clasped in front of him. Scrolls were tightly-bound to his leather jerkin, symbols of obvious learning, but it was the glowing blue tattoos that took her eye. They followed his biceps, extending over his entire body and spidering up to his face.

Time seemed to slow as they passed each other, and Rose felt a surge of fear in her chest as he raised his head ever so slightly to look into their eyes. As their eyes met, Rose felt a deep chill in her chest that felt both hot and cool, feeling as though all her pain, all her feelings and thoughts, were open to this man beside them–

and then he looked away and continued to walk on without breaking stride. Rose was too scared to check behind her shoulder to watch him go, only feeling safe enough to do so when the doors slid shut behind him. Rose envied her sister's nerve: Sparrow had turned almost all the way around to watch him go, her mouth hanging open. "Who was _that_?" she breathed.

"Lord Lucien's advisor," Jeeves the Butler explained, though he sounded a lot less aloof than when he'd greeted them. "He and our Lord have been working on a very important project... but I have to admit, his presence... it's formidable."

Rose whistled to herself. "No kidding... We used to look up and stare at this castle every night, you know, but the inside is even more breathtaking than I imagined."

"Yes, it is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Where is the Grand Dining Hall?" Rose asked curiously.

"Oh, in the North Wing, but Lord Lucien doesn't eat in there anymore... not since the tragic deaths of Lady Fairfax and little Amelia."

Rose's face was downcast as she said sympathetically, "Oh, I heard. It was so terrible... if he doesn't eat there, then where does he eat?"

"Oh, here in his study, mostly," Jeeves said offhandedly. "He's been in there all the time lately, doing research."

"Oh?" Rose asked. "What does he research?"

"Old Kingdom artifacts, mostly." They reached the study door, and Jeeves coughed politely before saying, "Now, there are a few rules you must acknowledge when you talk to Lord Lucien. Show respect at all times, touch nothing, and above all do not mention Lady Fairfax or Amelia."

"I understand, sir," Rose said, and the doors opened.

Lucien's circular study was a dream come true for Rose, who hadn't imagined anything that could have been grander that the Entrance Hall below them. Large and spacious, bookshelves had somehow taken up the majority of the right side wall. The left was dominated by a large workbench covered in scrolls and tomes, and in the middle of it all a great stained glass window looked over Bowerstone Old Town.

And right there, bent over a tome, looking up at this new arrival with his black hair carelessly disheveled, handsome face inviting... was Lord Lucien.

"Here we are," Jeeves said, making a grand gesture towards the inside. "Lord Lucien, the children are here."

The doors closed behind them as soon as they stepped in, cutting them off from the hall and from Jeeves. Lucien was dressed in a handsome white tunic and black vest, the first couple of buttons undone, and Rose felt her face heat up. "Ah, children," he said, inviting them inside. Rose took a few steps, trying not to fall and look like an idiot in front of this gorgeous man. _Oh, my Lord Lucien_. "Come on in, don't be shy. Is something wrong with your sister?"

Rose noticed she was still supporting Sparrow's weight with her arm, and explained in a meek voice, "Bullies were picking on us, sir. I think she's broken a rib, but I can't be certain. She's always downplaying it, Lord Lucien, and I didn't notice she was hurting until we came up your stairs outside the garden."

Lucien walked over, unerringly tall and even handsomer than that. Her heart skipped a beat. "We'll have to get that looked at," he said, his face frowning in concern. He bent down and touched Sparrow's side, and Rose heard her gasp. "Ah, yes, I think so, too."

"Please, sir," Rose said, bowing as low as she could with her sister's weight.

"I was under the impression that you have some sort of magic box... may I see it?"

Rose was crestfallen. "I wish we still had it, Lord Lucien, honest, but we already made our wish. It started to glow and it just... disappeared."

Lucien had gone a bit paler, but perhaps it was just the moon. He certainly didn't look angry. "After you used it?" he asked, as if it were just a minor concern.

"Yes, m'lord... the man who sold it said it was magic."

Lucien smiled grimly. "The box means nothing to me, nothing at all, do not worry... what's most remarkable about this is that you managed to use it. Incidentally... what was your wish?"

Rose, despite his warm, inviting tone, felt as though she were treading on dangerous ground. "To live in a castle, like this one," Sparrow piped up, her tiny voice surprising him.

Rose was appalled at her sister's nerve–yet again–but Lucien didn't look upset in the slightest. In fact, he took a long step towards a raised, circular stone pedestal that took up most of the area surrounding the large stained-glass window. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "that could be arranged." Rose's heart was in her throat when he turned to them again. "I am working on something that... well, something wonderful, which I need individuals of particular talents. Let us see if you possess them."

He gestured at the stone behind him. "Would you kindly stand in the circle, please?"

Rose looked up at him, visions of that tall dark-skinned man running through her mind's eye. "Erm..."

"I promise," he said sincerely, "it won't hurt you at all. Please, for me?"

Rose pursed her lips, but nodded carefully. "Come on, little Sparrow," she said in a low voice. Sparrow was staring at the circle with a strange expression on her face. "What's wrong?"

Sparrow stole some courage and shook her head. "Nothing," she whispered, and allowed her sister to help her up that one last step.

As soon as they stepped on to the center stone, Rose knew something bad was about to happen. It was the strongest precognition she ever had, and terror leapt up in her throat. She stood in the center, shaking, when there was a sudden noise. Runes she hadn't noticed before suddenly lit up a bright, bright blue. "What?" she squealed. "What's that?"

At the edges of the circle glowing blue dust motes swirled up and barred them from leaving, and Rose almost didn't hear Lucien's reassurance. He was turned away from them, hands clasped tightly behind his back. "Nothing to worry about," he said in a low, tightly controlled voice.

Slowly, he turned around and regarded Rose with shock. His hands unclasped themselves, and he began to reach for the blue motes. She saw his mouth form words too quiet for her to catch, and there was a sudden jolt as his hand connected with the blue.

He held his hand close to his body, and the blue light suddenly turned red. "M'lord, what's happening?" Rose squealed. Sparrow seemed too scared beyond words.

"What _are_ you?" Lucien asked, though not to them. He seemed to be talking to himself, making calculations in his head. He crossed over to his desk and began to rifle through the scrolls. "Wait, wait, there was something here... something..."

"M'lord, please," Rose whispered, tears beginning to fall. "Please, what's wrong? What's that light?"

"Quiet!" Lucien snapped, suddenly not the nice man he'd been only minutes ago. He pored over the scrolls with a fever like a madman, looking somewhere, anywhere for that one particular scroll that would explain it all, make it all right. "You're Heroes, but not one of the Three... one of you is the Fourth..."

"My lord!" Rose yelled.

Lucien took out a revolver and aimed it in her direction. He approached her slowly, his eyes wild and intense. "It's not what I wanted," he whispered fiercely.

"W-wait," Rose screamed, stumbling backwards. "NO! DON'T! NO!"

There was a sudden crack that split the air like her scream, and then there was the most horrific pain in her stomach. She folded over, her momentum carrying her over backwards. She felt herself hit the floor of the circle, clutching her stomach.

It didn't hurt, not really... it didn't even felt like she'd been shot at all, except that she could feel the blood pouring out of the wound. There was a blackness around her vision that refused to go away, and she tilted her head just a little bit to look at the patchy boots of the one she loved most.

_Run, little Sparrow_, she whispered.

And, as if through a great tunnel, she heard a voice. "I can't allow you to live, either... I am so sorry."

The boots backed up at the very edge of the circle, and she heard something that didn't belong to this scene–sobs. There was a great bang, and a sound of breaking glass...

The scene never finished for Rose. She was gone.

~~~~

A dark figure fell from the sky, limp and motionless against the air currents that buffeted her body. The figure, the smallest of the two that had entered the castle just a while ago, slammed into the edge of a stone overhang and flipped. The figure hit the stone pavement face-first and lay there, motionless.

There was a sudden panting beside the figure, and a wet nose nudged the figure's hand. A finger twitched.

"Death is not your destiny today, little Sparrow..." a cloaked figure whispered.

Lord Lucien departed Castle Fairfax that night, certain that those who stood in his way were dead... but some grief is so great, that even Death may keep its distance...


	6. Theresa

**CHAPTER 5**

**Seven years after the death of King Byron**

Now let me tell you something about Princess Darrina that you may have noticed before:

At three years old, the young girl already had the mentality of somebody twice her age. She could understand concepts easily and grasp things far too complicated for somebody her age. She's an active part of conversations, she's empathetic, and she has unusual stamina. If Jasper had been paying attention, he would have known that Darrina was indeed a Hero, though in his despair at the King's death he didn't allow himself to have hope for this. Logan, though he loved his sister very dearly, held a slight resentment at how fast his sister seemed to pick up on these things.

For example: the talk Walter had with her about Death would not have been understood by any of her peers, and even then it was barely understood by Logan himself. Darrina, however, had grasped the idea and knew in her heart that her 'father' wasn't coming back. She missed him dearly, but she did not struggle against fate as so many people have a strange tendency of doing. Even at a young, young age, Darrina knew enough about life (or guessed enough) to know that it wasn't always _fair_, and sometimes you just had to compromise to get what you wanted.

There were only a small number of people within the castle who believed that Darrina was a Hero, and they included her mother, Walter, and Marcus. The others could only guess – after all, there had been child prodigies before, and Darrina came from good genes. However it was under the general impression that Logan was the Hero of the two of them, and that he would lead them when the Queen inevitably passed on.

Darrina, too, was good at hiding it. She caught on quickly that her superior intellect seemed to frighten some of the adults, so she quickly became withdrawn and would only speak when spoken to. She didn't make friends with the other children, as Logan had, though the kitchen staff certainly saw enough of her. Madame Loretta fretted over her hair and clothes, struggling to make her look like a real Princess of Albion, and all of her hard work would promptly be undone the moment she stepped in the kitchens and started to help make the bread.

Darrina and Logan also grew apart in looks. Logan grew taller, his voice started to crack, and his eyebrows grew even more fierce over harsh brown eyes that would once in a while soften; Darrina was the shortest of the two, her wavy brown hair hung to her waist, and her face perhaps only grew more beautiful. She took on more of her mother's characteristics than her brother had, which should have been another clue. Sometimes Illandere would smile at her and say that she looked a lot like a woman she knew a long time ago, a girl named Rose.

Logan and Darrina had a good relationship, don't get me wrong. They loved each other dearly, but they were too often separated by social barriers that wouldn't permit them to do _everything_ together. Darrina wanted so badly to learn to fight when Logan first started his classes underneath Sir Rowle, but she was not allowed. Queen Illandere was so often doing her duties around the country, leaving them at the castle, which meant that she was not available for a year to help her through it. Darrina, angry at this, would hide in the kitchens and help prepare the food.

And then one day Sir Rowle died. Something happened: a gun went off when and where it wasn't supposed to, and _poof _– the head of Illandere's security force lay on the rocks of the patio, staring up at a great big nothing. They held a funeral for him and Illandere accompanied the body back to his family home in Bowerstone.

It wasn't too hard to imagine that Walter would be next in line, though he didn't seem to like the idea too much. He was better at directing small units than entire _army_ of guards, he said, but Illandere paid no attention to him and knighted him right the next day.

"That man always unnerved me," Jasper confided in her one afternoon when Sir Walter was walking around, checking in with the rest of the guard. "Though I suppose he's okay. He's got such an _air_ about him, though, like he knows something that we don't. I say, just because you know the Queen on a personal level doesn't mean that you're entitled to your position!"

Darrina loved Sir Walter Beck, though. He was always nice to her, much nicer to her than he was to Logan at any rate. He and Logan got along reasonably well, but her brother was always very awkward around him, looking for praise when Walter wasn't in a position to do it. He seemed very keen on making Sir Walter his surrogate father, and while Walter responded politely to him and tried to help him out, there was always a slight distance between them that just wasn't there between anybody else.

Though nobody but he knew it, Walter had put that distance there himself. It was no good for a boy to be clinging to another grown-up man who put his neck on the line more than once. If Logan began to see Sir Walter in that way and Sir Walter _died_, then Logan would be crushed. So Walter was nice to him and looked after him, but he never became any more than a bodyguard or an advisor, though in some ways Walter looked over him like a father would.

Darrina could tell that there was no distance between herself and him, though. She could climb on his lap and complain about his giant mustache and beard, count all the grays in his hair, and make him play pretend games with her – Knights and Dragons was her favorite one, and she always ended up 'killing' Walter in the end.

Unto his dying day, Walter kept the Queen's secret; he never told a soul that Darrina was his, and things went on just as they normally would.

"Jasper," Darrina said, "can we go down to Bowerstone Market for my birthday? Please?"

Jasper glanced up from the Wanted poster he was reading, surprised. "Well, of course, madam," he said, placing the thing aside. They were moving her out of the joint bedroom she shared with Logan to a more suitable place just above the kitchens. It was a big step for the both of them, and Logan had promised to come in and help after he was done training with the other boys underneath Variel. "After all, ten years old is a very good age."

"Yes!" Darrina beamed at him. "I'd like to see if they have any pets there… I'd really like one, you know. Maybe a cat or a dog."

"We'd have to see if that would be okay with your mother, first," Jasper said, raising one eyebrow. "Though I don't see why it wouldn't – we'll just have to be sure to ask nicely, then."

"Oh, but she already said yes!" Darrina said, climbing on to her bed. "Just you and me would be fine, wouldn't it, Jasper?"

"Just you and me?" Jasper asked dubiously. "Now, now, Princess, that's not the best idea. We should at least bring somebody – a guard," he added, when she looked confused. "We must bring a guard. I will not have you getting hurt on _my_ watch."

"We could just bring _Lisella_," Darrina said with a mischievous smile. "She could take care of herself."

Jasper sighed. Lisella was a nice enough woman, but she had to be one of the strangest people that Queen Illandere had brought into the castle. While she knew enough about herb lore to put the best experts in Albion to shame, she was a little too free with her concoctions for his taste. "No doubt she could," he muttered, shaking his head. "That knife of hers is particularly… well, effective."

"She scares the men around the castle," Darrina said, chuckling. "I like her. I think that we should bring her."

"We'll talk to your mother about that, then," Jasper said. He picked up the poster again and placed it on top of the pile of books and scrolls on the table. "Now, then, if you'll help me bring this upstairs, we'll get done quickly and get ready."

The both of them ferried the items outside into the garden and up the back stairwell that led to the second story. The soldiers snapped to attention as they passed by, and finally they made it to her new, large room. It was very big and grand, dominated by a large double-bed in the back. There was a desk to the right that overlooked three large windows that viewed the great gardens, a recent invention called a telescope right next to it. But mostly the room was dominated by four large bookshelves that were sure to be filled to the brim some time in the next year.

It only took two trips for them to bring all of her possessions upstairs, which Jasper was grateful for. They _could_ have enlisted the help of the guards, but Darrina was stubborn and set on doing things on her own, just like her mother. They sorted the items out and eventually one row of the first bookshelf was filled up, pictures were hung on the bare (though still elegant) walls, and things were just, well, arranged in the right order for a princess.

She helped him change the sheets on her new bed, and then she sat down on it with a grin. "This is the most amazing room in the castle!" she said, looking around. "It'll be strange not sleeping with Logan any more."

"Well, you're a young lady now, my dear," Jasper said, turning around to glance out the window, hands clasped formally behind his back. "You deserve your own room, I think. Oh, dear, I seem to have forgotten the key…" He searched his pockets with a frown, wondering if perhaps he left it in his bedroom on the mantle, but his hands eventually closed around the small metal thing. He gave it to her with a smile. "Now only you can get in here," he said.

"Only me?" she challenged, raising one perfect eyebrow. "Excuse me, Jasper, but I thought that the guards had master keys to the entire castle."

"Oh, they do," Jasper said. "They need it. Oh, and your mother as well, though if she's trying to get into your room she could probably just force the door down with magic… Prince Logan also has a key, as do I."

"Nice," she said with a chuckle. "And I have master keys, too, so I suppose it's fair and square."

"Indeed," Jasper said. To his knowledge, there was only one room which no key could unlock, and that was, well, the Catacombs in the garden. Queen Illandere had built that place herself, and only she really knew how to unlock it. "Now, then, are you ready to go ask your mother for permission?"

"But she already said _yes_," Darrina said pointedly.

"But she still has to vote on Lisella coming or not," Jasper reminded her gently.

Darrina sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine, fine," she grumped. "Let's go _ask permission._ I never get to go anywhere, Jasper. I'm always here. Mom told me all about her adventures, and she's gone around and seen _loads_ of people. She stood up against Lord Lucien! And now she's _Queen._ If I'm going to help rule Albion one day, I have to go make friends with everybody. It's only fair. I need to make my own choices."

Jasper sometimes had to stop and detach himself from his body so he could really put Darrina's words into perspective. She had such an adult way of thinking, so serious and formal, that, even though he was used to it, it still caught him by surprise. "That is a very logical argument," he said as they departed her new room. "But as of the moment, your mother is the Queen, and therefore you don't have to help rule Albion yet."

"It's because I'm a _girl_," she muttered, descending for a moment into sullen teenage mode. "Logan always gets to go out with his friends. They've been hiking, they've gone into the mountains, and they even go into the Bowerstone Old Quarter. I'm _always_ here, though! I have to ask permission all the time to go outside, and half the time people say no. Because I'm a _Princess._ Princesses should go outside, too. Princesses should go and see their own country."

"Yes, madam, I do agree with you," Jasper said, descending the staircase. "But you have to understand, we love you so much – we wouldn't want you to be hurt out there."

"Sir Walter doesn't think I'd get hurt," she muttered. "I fell out of the second story last year, remember? And I didn't even get hurt!"

"You were lucky," he said stiffly. That incident still made his hair ruffle a bit. "You scared nearly half the castle."

"I know," she said in a morose tone. "I didn't mean to – I just lost my balance."

"'Lost your balance,'" Jasper echoed. "Indeed."

"Well I did!"

"We already had this conversation," Jasper reminded her. "What's done is done and over with." It was a pity that she didn't have a scar or some sort to remind her of the incident, he thought. Scars reminded people very nicely of the dumb things human beings were capable of doing.

"Yeah," she muttered. They were silent until they hit ground level, and then Darrina perked up suddenly, waving at a group of boys playing by the fountain. "Hey!" she called.

_It's impolite to yell,_ Jasper thought, but kept such reprimands to himself. The boys' ages ranged from seven to fourteen respectively, and he recognized them all as sons from neighboring nobles. They got up and waved back, and Darrina jogged over to join them, pulling up her skirt to walk quickly over the grass. Jasper merely smiled a little at her, pleased that she was making friends… even if they were of the opposite gender. The young Princess was much too cloistered up for her own good, he thought.

Part of the reason, he thought, was that she was simply too mature for her peers. She was treated like an adult all of the time and so that was how she behaved. It unnerved most of the adults around her enough that they also gave her a wide berth. In some ways, her only real friends in the castle seemed to be himself and the esteemed Sir Walter Beck.

Those boys, though… Jasper had seen those boys stealing apples and other fruits from the gardens, and hadn't turned them in. He wasn't sure what his opinion of them was except that he was unsure. But then again, he'd been unsure about Walter Beck as well, and he seemed like an okay individual.

Jasper wandered over, a tight smile on his face as he appraised the boys. "Now, Princess, I shall see you in about an hour at the front gates," he said. "If you still wish to go, that is…"

"Yes, yes, I do!" Darrina said, nodding. "I will be there in an hour. Thank you, Jasper, you're the best!" And she hugged him.

"I know," he said dryly. The boys were staring up at him with a mixture of respect and fear, and Jasper felt suddenly empowered. "Don't you go taking things out of the gardens, either," he said suddenly, looking directly at the oldest. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," the boy said sullenly. "But we didn't take anything, I promise –"

"Do not attempt to lie to me, young man," Jasper said harshly. "Now, Darrina? I will see you soon."

As he departed, he heard Darrina whisper sharply, "Did you _really_ steal food out of the gardens, you idiot?"

As he entered the castle, Jasper smiled. Sometimes being blunt was the only way to go, it seemed.

_Just like her mother,_ he thought.

"Did you _really_ just point the sword at me like that, you idiot?"

Walter Beck was in a surly mood. The offending soldier smiled politely and adjusted his grip until Walter nodded in satisfaction. "Better," he said, glaring at the man with his beady eyes. He stroked his mustache leisurely as he examined the rest of them, and then nodded. "Good. Keep that extension. That sword is a part of your body, and don't forget it. You lose your sword, you're – "

" – dead," Variel finished for him. He sauntered into the platoon area, a grin on his face. "Still doing the same old talk I see."

"Humph. Is there something you need?" Walter grumped.

"The Queen would like to see you," Variel said. "Apparently her daughter wants to go to the Markets for her birthday, but she shouldn't go alone."

Walter nodded. "Fine, then. You take over. Where's the Princess at?" He placed his sword back in its sheath, the anger fading away just as quickly as it came.

"She's out back in the gardens with a group of boys, sir," Variel said. "But she promised to meet yourself and Jasper at the front gates within half an hour."

"Knowing her, she'll show up an hour late and blame it on the sun," Walter muttered. "Fine, fine. Go through the drills – I'll be back when I get back."

Variel chuckled. "Right you are, sir."

Walter walked into the palace and retreated to his quarters to grab his coat, money, and his flintlock pistol. As he was going back down into the entrance hall, he saw Jasper waiting there, dressed in something shabbier than his usual attire. "Trying to blend in with the crowd, then?" Walter asked with a booming laugh.

"Oh please," Jasper said stiffly. "I'm more trying to not have myself be the victim of a pickpocketer."

"You'll be with me, you old worrywart," Walter said. "Now where's Darrina?"

"She _should_ be here within the next ten minutes," Jasper said doubtfully. "Though her friends may have distracted her…"

"Well, we can't dawdle around all day waiting for Her Highness," he said with a snort. "Come on, Jasper, let's go get her."

"Oh, very well… possibly for the best, anyways."

And it appeared to be true. Darrina and the boys weren't in the gardens where Jasper left them, and after questioning a soldier standing guard it was revealed that they'd retreated to the back of the large pavilion, behind the Catacombs.

"This could spell trouble," Walter said, picking up his pace.

"Yes," Jasper agreed. "Slightly."

Walter's quick ears picked up the noise before Jasper. "_Fight, fight, fight!"_

Walter began to run. The boys were crowded around in a circle, laughing and riling each other up. As Walter got closer, he saw a young teenage boy squaring off against a much smaller-looking one with blonde hair. The latter had a bloody lip. And then Darrina, the one Walter was _really_ concerned about, was right in the middle, her hands spread out to ward them off of each other. "Stop it, can't you just – _Walter_! Make Percy back off before I lose my temper!" she snapped.

"You don't have to defend me!" the younger boy snapped back. "_He_ needs to get his head bashed in!"

Percy, however, straightened up immediately when he saw Sir Walter and the butler approaching. "We were just having a bit of fun!" he said.

_A bit of fun my weeping saddle sores,_ Walter thought. "All right, break it up. Princess, you come over here now."

"No," Darrina said hotly. "I want this _idiot_ out of the castle. I don't want to see his face here again."

Walter slowed up a bit, confused. _This_ wasn't how Darrina normally acted at _all._ "Okay… what did he do?"

"He _kissed_ her!" the younger boy snapped, holding his busted lip. "Even when she said no, he went and kissed her anyway."

"I was only jokin'," Percy mumbled.

Darrina retaliated by kicking him in the privates hard enough to lift him an inch off the ground. The boys _ooo'd _and laughed, and Walter merely had to glare at them to make them stop. Percy rolled on the ground, clutching his privates and moaning to the sky. Walter took him by the scruff of the neck and set him on his feet, then proceeded to walk him back to area where there were soldiers. "What happened, sir?" one of them asked, his mouth open.

"This lout kissed the Princess without her permission," Walter growled, pushing the fourteen-year-old away from him in disgust. He slammed into the two guards and sunk to the ground. "One of the gutsier boys decided to defend the girl's honor and they had it out. Get this garbage off of the property, I don't care which family he's from."

"Uh, yes, sir, very well, sir!"

He made sure that Percy was taken out of the castle and went back to the gardens where Darrina was nursing the smaller boy next to the fountain. The others had disappeared, and Jasper was standing over them with his arms uncharacteristically crossed. "Business taken care of, I take it?" he asked as Walter approached.

"With prejudice," Walter assured him. He glanced down at Darrina, who was dabbing at the kid's lip with a white handkerchief. "You, boy: what's your name?"

"Elliot," he mumbled.

"Elliot? You did good."

"I could've handled him," Darrina muttered darkly. "Except he stepped in right before I figured out what I was going to do."

"You shouldn't have to fight," Elliot argued. "I could've handled it."

"Regardless," Walter intervened, "it shouldn't have happened and the oaf's been dealt with. I don't want you near him, Darrina. Understand? He's too old for you anyway."

Darrina glowered at him, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment. "I could take him!"

"You could have," Walter agreed. "And look, I want you to kick a man in the balls like that every single time they do something like that, but you can't let yourself be led that way. It's unhealthy."

"_She_ didn't," Elliot objected. "Percy kind of… took control. They dared him to kiss her, but I didn't think he'd actually do it."

"Were you a part of the dare?"

"No," Darrina muttered tiredly. "He was the only one who thought it was a bad idea, 'sides me."

"Yeah," Elliot said. "It's not nice. Mom always said you have to be _nice_ to girls."

"Your mother's one smart lady, then," Walter said approvingly.

Darrina sighed, turning to face Elliot fully so she could continue to dab at his split lip. "The blood's all clotted up now," she said quietly. "But it's going to swell. You'll probably want Madame Loretta to take a look at it, okay?"

"'Kay," Elliot mumbled. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said. Things were really quiet until she said, "I don't like leaving you without your friends like this. If you hadn't stepped in, they'd probably still be here."

Elliot's chin went out defiantly. "Then they're not my friends."

Darrina nodded. "Sorry… do you want to come to the Markets with me?"

The question was so sudden and unexpected that Walter's eyebrows twitched in surprise. He watched, amused, as Elliot's face reddened and he moved his face away from the cloth in an embarrassed sort of way. "Uh…" He twitched his shoulders up and down in a shrug. "Sure… if… that's okay?"

"Jasper?" Walter asked under his breath. "Up to you."

"Uh… certainly!" Jasper said, a smile threatening to break across his face. "Yes, it'd be a joy to have you, and after all it _is_ Darrina's birthday."

"How old are you turning?" Elliot asked.

"Ten," she said proudly. "How old are _you?_"

"I'm eleven," he said, getting up. Darrina withdrew her hand from his face and dipped the cloth into the water to remove the blood. "Er, sorry. Here, let me do that—"

"—no, no, I've got it."

Walter and Jasper exchanged a knowing look. It was sure to be a strange, amusing day.

Darrina made sure that Elliot was fine before asking to depart the castle. His nose was swollen and one eye was puffy, but other than that he seemed perfectly fine according to Lisella. Darrina was glad; she didn't want him to have gotten more hurt than he already had on _her_ account. That would just not have been good, not good at all. Even so, she found she was touched by the fact that Elliot had acted like a _real_ gentleman (not like the fakes in her mother's court) and fought for her. That had been nice.

And Elliot was a lot nicer and a lot more talkative away from his 'friends,' she found. Jasper and Sir Walter were walking a few feet behind them, so it was only Elliot and her in the front. The two of them talked about the other boys (especially _Percy, _that word-that-she-was-not-allowed-to-say!) a bit, they talked about their favorite colors and their favorite seasons, what kind of pets they had, and how many times they'd been to the Markets.

"I wish I could go more," she complained. "I'm always stuck in the castle, it's no fun."

"Well, you're a Princess," Elliot said matter-of-factly. She glowered at him, but he went on without noticing. "Everybody wants to protect you, see? And you can get whatever you want when you want. I don't see what's so wrong with _that._ Sounds pretty awesome."

"Awesome," she echoed. She was secretly pleased he used that word, because Jasper had told her that 'awesome' was uncouth, and she always had to mind the way she talked around him or else he would call her out for it. She didn't see what the big deal was; she didn't want to be a prissy snob like the other girls her age, but she didn't want to be a foul-mouth, either. She just tried to keep it on the line – she was blunt, but everybody knew she cared so it was okay. "It's not _that_ awesome. Mom never has time for us, 'cos ever since Dad died she's been doing _his_ job, too."

Elliot just nodded. "My dad died, too," he said. "But that was when I was only a year old. I don't really remember him."

"Of course not, you were a baby!" she said with a chuckle. "But I'm sorry."

"My mom's been good, though," Elliot said. "I mean, I have like four sisters. _Four_ of them!"

"Oh, _gross_," Darrina said. "That's just weird. I mean, not _really_, but it _is_ for me because I hang out with boys a lot. They're not as complicated."

"Not as complicated?" he asked, kicking a stone on the descending slope. "We're complicated!"

"Not _really_," she said, enjoying this. "Please, you guys are way more fun to hang out with than wondering if I'll hurt Krissy's feelings if I do _this_, or maybe Jennifer will start crying if I say _this._ Boys can take it! And if they can't, then they're just weak."

Elliot blinked for a moment, probably remembering all of the times he cried due to an injury, and Darrina immediately felt sorry that she said that. Before she could open her mouth to apologize, Elliot said, "Not all girls are like that. You aren't."

"Thanks," she muttered, rubbing the back of her head. "I try not to be. I can't stand it when girls cry if they scrape their knee or something, you know? It's odd. It's not right."

"They _do_ whine a _lot_," Elliot agreed with a laugh. "My sister, Rosetta, she's _fourteen_ years old and she cried just the other day because she hit her head on the cabinets!"

"Really?" Darrina asked, her eyes going wide. "I fell off of a horse once and all I did was laugh."

"Really?" Elliot asked. "Percy, he cried."

"Wow!"

"I didn't cry when he punched me, though," he said proudly.

"I know," she said. "That's good, that's why I like boys more than girls. They don't cry as much. He hit you _hard_, too."

Elliot nodded. "It hurt like you wouldn't believe," he said, puffing his chest out proudly. "But I was so angry at them for doing that to you that I didn't even think about crying."

"Can't help but cry when you hit your nose," Darrina heard Walter whisper to Jasper. "He's posturing."

Darrina had noticed a long time ago that she had ears more sensitive to sound than normal people did, so she wasn't surprised that Elliot didn't seem to hear him at all. She glanced back at Walter, confused, and asked, "What does posturing mean?"

Walter blinked and coughed. "I'll tell you later," he promised.

_But I want to know _now. She had a feeling she knew what it meant, though, and it put Elliot into a whole different light… but he was just trying to impress her, right? And after all, she _did_ kind of put down people for crying…

She took a lesson from that exchange: maybe you just had to be careful not to air your own views first until you knew somebody else's. She merely nodded and turned around to fall back into step with Elliot. They talked about things of no more consequence, and Darrina made it her mission to find out more about him.

The interest seemed to make Elliot really flustered and pleased, she noticed. He enjoyed the attention, so she gave it to him. It made him happy and it fulfilled her interest in another person, so she figured that it was a win-win situation, as she heard Walter say once.

They hit the Markets about ten minutes of hard walking later, and Darrina went close to Walter, who automatically reached out to hold her hand. "So where do you want to go?" he asked.

"I just want to look around," she said. "How long can we stay?"

"As long as you'd like," Jasper said, "but I would still say that we get back to the castle by nightfall."

"Aw, can't we eat dinner _here_ instead?" she asked.

"Sure," Walter said before Jasper could open his mouth. "I know a good place."

"That's not a bar, I hope," Jasper muttered.

"Oh, can we go to a bar, Walter?" she asked, twisting around to face him.

"_No_," Jasper and Walter's voices said simultaneously.

Darrina sighed; Elliot giggled.

The Markets were a bustling place full of people and bodies that just wasn't present in the castle. There was a fever of energy in the air that was refreshing to her. The sound of people yelling, of kids screaming, adults laughing – it was all music to her ears. There were small stands and such spread out evenly across the market square. "Look, a bridge!" Elliot yelled, pointing.

Bowerstone Bridge was standing right there over the river, and there were stands _there_ as well. Darrina detached herself from Walter and ran after Elliot so they could peer over the edge and into the water. "Cool!" Elliot said.

"Look, fish!" she said, pointing down at the small gray streaks in the blue water.

"Look at that cargo boat."

"Look at that funny man over there with the mustache."

"Cool!"

"Walter, can we buy a pie?" Darrina asked suddenly. She'd just taken a whiff of the air and smelled the aroma of cooking apple pies from the neighboring stall. "Please?"

"Of course," he said, and he bought a large pie for them all. Darrina watched the transaction eagerly, and they took the pie to a bench and dug in with small forks that Walter just happened to have on him.

"Why do you always carry a mug, Sir Walter?" Elliot asked respectively, pointing at the cup on Walter's belt.

"Never know when you'd need it," Walter said. "Either to hit somebody or drink some beer."

"Oh, wow," Elliot said, his eyes widening. "Have you ever killed anybody with that before?"

_Wrong question. _Asking somebody, even someone as nice as Sir Walter, if they killed somebody before was kind of a stupid question. Walter chewed some of the pie slowly and deliberately, and just nodded.

"What's it like?"

"Elliot," she reprimanded, tugging at his elbow.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "Sorry, sorry."

"No, it's fine," Walter said. "Just not a great question to ask somebody, understand? Killing isn't something that's enjoyable."

Darrina couldn't even believe that Elliot has asked that question – couldn't he imagine it? Sometimes, when Mom or one of the soldiers would begin to tell their war stories, Darrina felt like she could imagine it just as vividly as they'd felt it, but even so, at ten years old, she knew enough that if she killed anybody she would just not feel very well about it. It would change her, she knew.

She also knew that she'd have to do it one day. It was a scary thought. She just hoped that if she ended up killing somebody, they really, really deserved it.

"I understand, Sir," Elliot mumbled, his ears turning red. "I'm sorry, Sir."

Elliot had to go to the bathroom later, and it turned out that Jasper and Sir Walter did, too. Walter made her promise to wait for them by the Bowerstone Bridge, so that's what she did, meandering along the edge and watching the waters and watching the people buying things from the stalls. She was very observant, too – she recognized people from far away places like the mountains, Brightwall, even some dark-skinned foreigners of the type that her mother sometimes invited into the castle. None of them looked like Garth, though, which was a bit of a letdown. Darrina had always wanted to meet either Hammer or Garth, the _real _Heroes.

The day outside was lovely, though, and she supposed that made up for it. A little baby boy slung over a woman's shoulder made faces at her from across the bridge, and so she stuck out her tongue and pulled her lips to the sides to make him laugh. The woman caught her eye and smiled before walking away to buy some groceries.

_I like Bowerstone,_ she thought. _Everything feels… nice here. _

Sometimes, especially after this day, Darrina had a feeling that the state of Bowerstone coincided with the Queen's mental health and wellbeing. If Queen Illandere was sad, the inhabitants were also sad; if her mother was happy, the inhabitants had a jig in their step.

That wasn't to say that she totally believed it, however – she just had a vivid imagination, and it was a lot easier to think that a city relied directly on her mother's state than a board of governors, taxes, appeals, and who knew what else. She _understood_ the concepts of how to run a city – she had to – but sometimes she just wanted the freedom to be a little girl, too, and enjoy life without bothering to wonder how exactly things were put together.

Five minutes passed and the boys had still not returned, and Jasper had taken the pie with them. Darrina was beginning to get hungry again, so she jingled the money in her pocket, money that seemed to be burning a hole through the lining yelling _spend me! _Heart racing, Darrina wondered for a while if she should go and buy a snack from the stall just across the square boulevard… she'd been told to stay on the bridge, true, but Sir Walter couldn't expect her to remain there for the entire _day, _could he?

Could he?

Darrina abruptly made up her mind. First of all, she was a _Princess_ and she was tired of people telling her what to do and when to do it. She was also a promiscuous ten-year-old who, under normal circumstances, would be able to very well go and buy her own food without running the risk of being kidnapped or worse. Secondly, if Sir Walter was so concerned about her safety, he would've stayed with her and held his own bladder.

She walked off of the large bridge, keeping a lookout for the three boys just in case, and made her way to the stall offering fresh fruit. She waited in line patiently for her turn, and then she smiled toothily at the young woman at the stall and said, "One apple, please."

"Alright, kid, that's gonna be two," the woman said, holding out her hand for the money while the other one reached for the fruit of choice.

Darrina picked out two coins stamped with the Albion seal and handed them to her. The young woman nodded appreciatively and stuck them in a small coin purse on her hip. "Thanks!" Darrina said brightly when she was handed the succulent red apple. Stepping to the side to allow others to make their order, Darrina bit into it with satisfaction, relishing the thought that she'd just bought something all by herself without an adult looking over her shoulder. It was _nice._

"You look very proud of yourself," a voice murmured behind her.

Darrina froze, her insides turning to ice. Very slowly, she looked down at the cobblestone ground, turning a little to see the hem of a purple and white robe moving lazily in the wind. She followed the hem up, up, up, until her eyes locked on a woman of about forty or so, her head covered by a heavy hood that cast her face into shadow, even on this sunny day. The woman's fingers were interlocked in front of her.

A rush of sudden understanding roared through Darrina's veins, and she knew that she must run, that she must fight, that she must somehow do both – she had to go find her mother, she had to go and find Walter –

"I have frightened you," Theresa whispered, a smile lifting the corner of her pointed face. "Children often feel and see what the adults do not."

"I thought you were at the Spire," Darrina said, lifting her chin up as to not show fear. "I thought you were going to stay there and tell the future for a while."

"I have decided to leave the Spire for now," Theresa said simply. "Come. Walk with me, Princess."

"…okay."

Darrina fell into step beside her, her mind whirling with this strange turn of events, trying to recall everything her mother had told her about the woman.

"_Theresa is an Immortal. She saved me from Lord Lucien all those years ago and helped me gather the Heroes together to crush him once and for all. She raised me, but I never felt any kind of love from her. She is a guide, one who sees the future, and a Guildmaster, but do not let her fool you. I have known her for all of my life and her motives are still hidden from me, except this – after killing Lord Lucien, she took the Spire and all of it's power for herself. For what, I do not know, but it enabled her to grant me a single wish after I had finished… I got my wish. I got Byron, Marcus, I got Logan, I got you. I owe her my life, and she may indeed come to collect it one day."_

"_What does Theresa look like, Mommy?"_

"_An ageless woman, dressed in heavy robes of white and purple. Her eyes were cut out a long time ago, so she generally wears a hood and interlocks her fingers in front of her like she's carrying a baby of some sort. Her hair is dark, with a reddish tint, though you'll be lucky to see any of it. When I was a child, she scared me. I knew that she was no normal woman. We're actually related to her, somehow."_

"_How are we related to her?"_

"_Perhaps I'll tell you one day."_

Her mother had told her other things about her, but only in the narrative sense as she told the story about the fall of Lord Lucien and her adventures. In fact, she'd told Darrina more about Theresa than had probably ever been covered in a book somewhere.

Darrina could only walk beside the woman and wonder if the world was going to end some time soon, because Theresa only appeared at the moments she had need of you. _Right? _Darrina thought desperately. Her mother never said that Theresa had stayed for social hour. In fact, Darrina had never even seen a woman matching Theresa's description at the castle at all, which was strange considering how much of her mom's life she'd been a part of.

"_Do you guys ever talk to each other?"_

"_Theresa's not the social type," her mother laughed. "I haven't seen her since, well… Since she showed me a vision of you and Logan about maybe a year after Lucien's demise."_

"_She had a vision of _us?"

"_Indeed. She said the two of you are going to be the most important thing that will ever happen to Albion."_

Darrina desperately wanted to ask Theresa where they were going, and if Sir Walter knew where she was, but she knew that, somehow, she had to be quiet. Theresa walked slowly, but her moves flowed right into the other so beautifully that Darrina found herself trying to imitate this woman's docile grace. Theresa had no weapons, which was odd, Darrina thought. For such a powerful woman –

Oh, right. She could see the future. Oops. Darrina wondered if she could read thoughts, too, but only her mother didn't know it.

Theresa seemed to melt through the crowd with little to no effluence. She was an extremely agile old woman, Darrina thought, sidestepping a small pile of dog poo on the side of the street. "Theresa, where is Sir Walter?" Darrina asked.

"He and the other two men are delayed – I made sure that they would return in time for you, though, so there's no need to worry about getting in trouble."

"How did you _delay_ them?" she demanded.

"This time is not the one for questions, Princess. All will be explained in due time."

Theresa led her deeper into Bowerstone, past the Markets and through a tiny little alley that led right into, it seemed, Bowerstone Old Town. Theresa took an immediate left and entered through a small dilapidated house whose inhabitants were all upstairs chatting very loudly. Darrina's heart was fluttering with fear in her chest as she thought of being discovered, but Theresa led her right through the other side of the house without being discovered or even breaking her pace.

Through alleyways, through sidestreets, past houses and stalls full of food of a lesser quality – Darrina went past them all, her eyes wide. _This place is really familiar,_ she thought, but that was strange. She'd never been to Bowerstone Old Town before. She had a photographic memory, and she would've remembered coming here for sure.

"Bowerstone Old Town has changed much since I found your mother here," Theresa said, slowing her pace even more. They were coming up on a plot of land covered in flowers, near the edge of the entire town. A small wall about a head taller than Darrina herself protected people from falling over the sheer drop to the ground… and there, right in the distance, Fairfax Castle (now Bowerstone Castle, though her mother never called it that) glinted brightly in the horizon.

"That's a beautiful horizon," she said conversationally. Then she suddenly remembered Theresa's bad eyes and was quickly embarrassed. "Sorry – I forgot that – "

"I can see just as well as you can; perhaps even better," Theresa noted. She sat down on a graceful hunk of log and began to pull at a few items on her belt. She withdrew three cards and set them in front of her. With the other hand, she beckoned Darrina to take a seat on the opposite side. "The meaning in these cards are less clear than the visions the Spire gives me, but it will suffice, I think."

"What d'you mean?" Darrina asked cautiously.

"Shush, now. I must concentrate." Darrina closed her mouth obediently as Theresa's hands passed over the cards, humming a little to herself as she bent over, deep in concentration. "It has been forever since I have used this method," Theresa whispered to herself like an old woman bent double with the weight of too many years. "Let us hope that… yes, I see the connections now. Pick up the right card, little Sparrow."

Darrina bit her lip. "My right or your right?"

"The one that calls out to you the most."

Darrina looked at the three old cards that lay facedown on the grass. A small ant was crawling on the middle one, and on the left a yellow flower petal had fallen down on to the face. She reached for it without even thinking, wanting to brush her hand across the petal. She picked up the card and turned it over.

An illustration of a greatsword half-covered by a veil of blue silk dominated the foreground. Darrina squinted for any writing on it. "Pick another," Theresa advised. "Which is the next one that calls for your touch?"

Darrina chose the one on the right, the one without the ant, and found that the entire Fate Card was black as night. "This has to be a mistake," she said. "How can-?"

"And take up the last," Theresa said.

The last one was a picture of hand, glowing blue with energy, encircled by a cuff. Before Darrina could so much as think of why in the world there would be a glowing hand on the front, Theresa took the cards and stroked their thin edges with long, strong fingers. "The Relic," she said. "A device of protection against evil – not necessarily an object you should be concerned of as of now. A weapon that both wounds and heals, merely waiting to be passed on to the next bearer."

Darrina felt a shiver of cold go down her spine. "What's the relic?" she asked quietly. "Is it the music box -?"

"The music box no longer has any use to you," Theresa said. "It's time is nearly over."

"Nearly over?" Darrina repeated. She'd seen the music box herself, in her mother's vault. "Does that mean it's going to break or… die or something?"

"The music box has been waning in strength since Lucien was killed," Theresa said. "One day it will cease to exist altogether."

"But that would be bad!" Darrina objected. "It's so old – it should live forever, you know? It's always been here, hasn't it?"

"Everything must pass, with time," Theresa said. She held up the next card, the black one. "Night. It creeps closer every year, but you still have time to do something about it. Your mother is going to take the first steps to ensure that you _do_ have time, little Sparrow, but even when the day is bright and the grass is green, always remember how black it could look. A close friend struck blind, corrupted by the Shadow, perhaps. He will attempt to kill you for your piety."

"When I'm grown up, you mean?" Darrina asked.

"Yes. Be careful of those you give your heart to and give you theirs in return – often times those hearts are corroded with poison."

_Well _that_ is a cheery outlook on life_, Darrina thought. "Okay," she said, nodding. Sometimes the best way to get out of a conversation was to simply agree and move on.

_Who would betray me? Why would they try to kill _me?

"And the Mage," Theresa continued, holding this one close to her heart before handing it to Darrina. Their fingers brushed together, and Darrina felt as though Theresa hummed with untamed energy… there was a kinship about the both of them, somehow…

_She feels like mom. She's full of energy like mom._

"The Mage follows where wisdom leads, but always into conflict," Theresa explained. "Learn as much as you can despite the fighting that it might bring, because you will use all of this information when the Night takes over."

"The _Mage_," Darrina said, frowning. "Wait – this is the card that was associated with Garth! Do I get to meet Garth, Theresa?"

"The Hero of Will is long past your ability to summon," Theresa answered. "I would not worry about Garth and I would focus on you – only you. Now, Princess, you have a power inside yourself you've noticed before, have you not?"

Darrina gritted her teeth and nodded, trying not to feel too excited. "I'm different than anybody else," she said quietly. "They think I'm strange because I learn faster than they do. I… connect to different things."

"You connect to those things that your ancestors have connected to throughout their lives, all the way back to the Archon," Theresa explained. "I feel these urges, too. The thirst for knowledge, the energy of the world around us; tell me, have you ever attempted to bend this energy to your will?"

"I haven't," she said, shaking her head. "I was… afraid. Madam Loretta thought I was mad, and Jasper _already_ thinks I'm mad, so I didn't ask them. I've asked my mom, though, and she just kind of smiled and said that I'd learn in time. But ever since then she's been telling me to be more careful than Logan. She said that I have to learn quicker than him, be the bigger sister in our relationship. It's… strange. It's almost like she wants _me_ to rule when I grow up instead of Logan."

"You must have guessed by now that Logan is not a Hero," Theresa said.

Darrina nodded. "But… I still love my brother a lot. He'll be a great King."

"Your brother has the potential to be a great King, but his life is not as subject to a close scrutiny from myself as yours is," Theresa said. "Your brother was not meant to be one, and therefore he will always be weaker than you, always consumed by his own jealousy. Part of your job as his sister is to keep him docile, keep him calm. He will need every ounce of strength he can muster before taking the kingdom for himself."

"I can do that," Darrina said, nodding. "As long as _I_ don't have to be Queen. I want to have adventures, like Mom."

"Rest assured that you will see many battles before you finally lay your head down for the last time," Theresa said. "I will always be watching."

"From the Spire?"

"I can see all things from there," she said with a nod. She gestured around the area they were sitting down and asked, "Does this place hold a special meaning for you?"

"I… think so," Darrina said, looking around. The entire area seemed to be exerting some kind of draw towards her, as if the very land itself was embracing her presence. "I like it here… it's peaceful."

"The land always reacts strongly to Heroes," Theresa said. "For good or evil – you could see Oakville, where Hannah spent the majority of her life, and look at that in contrast to Bloodstone."

"Bloodstone," Darrina said with a nod. "That's where Reaver is."

"Reaver was there, yes," Theresa said, but she didn't offer any more information regarding him. "Nonetheless, this place will always react stronger to you than it would for Hannah, Garth, or Reaver. Do you know why?"

The answer rose to the top of her mind before she could even register what she thought: "Because mom and Rose lived here."

"Precisely. And it was here that the music box was activated – this land will be blessed forever because of the innocent energy released here. You have a special connection to this place because of your mother's ancestry and the choices she made in the past, and so this land will always welcome you when you wish for a respite, and none will bother you except those you allow in. This will be a safe haven forever."

Darrina looked around, running her fingers over the flowers. "People can see into here, though, right?" she asked quietly.

"They will see, but they will not register," Theresa said. She rose. "Now is time for me to depart. It would be best if you made your way back to Bowerstone Bridge before Sir Walter and Jasper return. Run."

She spoke the word so calmly, without urgency at all, that at first Darrina didn't realize that she'd been dismissed. She got to her feet and collected the Fate Cards. "Can I keep these, please?"

"They are yours to treasure," Theresa said. "Only your mother will realize what they are… perhaps Lisella will, as well, but that's unlikely. Still, keep them hidden. Only you are allowed to know your own future."

"Wait, are you going to go see my mom?" Darrina asked, a sudden thought gripping her mind. "Because I think she'd like to see you. She likes you a lot, you know."

Actually, Darrina didn't know whether or not her mom thought of her very fondly or not, but there had always been a certain respect for Theresa whenever her name was mentioned. Respect borne of fear… or admiration? _I'm confused, _Darrina thought idly, wondering if Theresa could pick up on her thoughts. _Okay, if you know what I'm thinking… nod your head up and down._

Theresa's head remained unmoved as she replied, "You will be late for Sir Walter. Run if you don't want him to realize where you've been – and mention this meeting to nobody, least of all your friends. The future holds sway only over you."

Darrina dawdled on the spot, taking in the scenery one more time, then nodded curtly and swung around, her legs already pumping underneath her in an uncomplicated rhythm to propel her across the small plot of land and back into Bowerstone Old Town.

Before taking a corner that would hide the place from view forever, Darrina turned back around to take one last look. Theresa stood there, her hands still clasped in front of her, as still as a statue. She raised one hand in a farewell, which Darrina hesitantly responded to, and the young girl continued on, ducking past older men in ragged clothing and women carrying their babies. "'Scuse me!" she yelled more than once.

About halfway back to Bowerstone Marketplace a large, muscular man carrying a crate of oranges stepped out of one of the doorways, taking her by surprise. She flew right into him, her momentum throwing the both of them to the ground in an undignified heap of limbs and cursing.

Large hands gripped her upper arms and she found herself being thrown backwards, landing on the cobblestone alleyway with a small scream. The man glared hatefully at her as he got to his feet. Darrina jumped to her own and hastily picked up the oranges around her, placing them within the crate. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" she said quickly, working as fast as she could. "Sorry!" She placed the last one in there and ran off.

"Where's the damn fire?" she heard the man grump. "Hey! You look out!"

"Thanks!" she yelled over her shoulder.

Narrowly dodging a man with scissors, a woman balancing a tray of food on her hand, and a drunk with a bottle, Darrina made it back to the Marketplaces in a huff, clutching a stitch in her side. She must've ran a mile… maybe even two. She jogged back to the bridge and waited there, taking deep, calming breaths and trying to stuff the Fate Cards further into her jacket. She would have to be very careful once they returned to the castle, because Jasper and his sharp eyes wouldn't even miss a wrinkle.

_I'll just tell him that I picked them up from a vender. That's the best I can do right now._

"Theresa is insane," she muttered, forcing her body to recover as quickly as it possibly could by taking deep breaths, holding it, and exhaling in a controlled manner. "Oh, right, I'm supposed to look bored – how long were the guys gone, anyway?" she wondered.

She tried to do the mental math and came up blank. Maybe twenty minutes, she guessed. She sat down at the edge of the bridge, her back against the wall, and twiddled her fingers on her knees. "The Relic," she muttered, "the Night, and the Mage. Well, that was sure informative. Thanks, Theresa, Madame Scary Lady."

Now Darrina could see why her mother had such an ambivalent view towards that woman – she was helpful, sure, but she was also very proficient in giving just enough information to make you even _more_ confused than you already _were._

How could Theresa see the future like that, anyway? How in the world could she use the Spire, which was all the way out in the ocean and far away from the castle, to see these interconnected things? And how, exactly, were they related?

There was no doubt Theresa was a Hero. No doubt in Darrina's mind at _all._ She had that same _sense_ around her that her mother did, and for some odd reason Darrina wasn't sure why she'd never noticed it – really – before. Was it just because she was so used to her mother that she'd never paid much attention? Mom was _always_ charged up somehow, she was always so _intense._ Theresa had that same intensity.

_And since I'm a Hero… does that mean I have the same intensity? Does that mean that I could use Will one day?_

Her mother had been such an avid Will user that her skin shone faintly in dark light. Walter jokingly called her "The Moon Sparrow," but Darrina didn't really think that she liked it that much. Mom was _mom_ to her… she didn't want to think of her as anything but.

_But mom's a Hero. She is a _Hero. _And so is Theresa, sort of… but Theresa is an Immortal, so maybe she's _not _a Hero, but she has the same energy as a Hero? Or maybe Heroes have the same energy as Immortals? But then why isn't mom immortal?_

And then there was Marcus, her dog. She'd noticed a long time ago that the doggy lived long past the average sixteen or so years, and he was still going strong… but lately he'd been slowing up, and so had mom…

_Theresa's gonna visit mom,_ Darrina thought suddenly. _She's going to visit mom right now and tell her something important. Mom's going to go away and I'm never going to see her again._

No. No, that wouldn't happen. The Queen never really left the castle…

No, that was a lie. It was a lie through and through, and Darrina couldn't even convince herself that it held any grain of truth at all.

Queen Illandere of Albion was going to go on one last mission, and she was never going to come back.

That's why Theresa had come to her, Darrina, and gave her the information she would need. That's why…

It was a connection that Darrina couldn't believe she had made, especially _now_ of all times. She tried vainly to grasp at the sense of logic that had possessed her, but there was no proof, not really. Just a child thinking of the worst… Ten years old was still a child, after all. She was allowed to have a minor freak out, just once… right?

But Darrina knew the truth in her gut, and that disturbed her far more than Theresa had. Theresa had certainly scared her, true, but at least she'd been given information, been given some sort of thread to follow… but this newer, gut feeling of hers?

"_Darrina!"_ She jumped slightly, glancing quickly towards the end of the bridge. Jasper waved over to her, his jacket a little wrinkled, and she got up and jogged over to him, mentally making sure that the Fate Cards were tucked safely away in her deepest jacket pocket. Jasper held his hand out for her to take, which she did gladly, and he smiled. "I'm terribly sorry, Princess," he apologized. "Sir Walter got into a dispute with a couple of _locals._"

"Where's him and Elliot, then?" Darrina asked sharply, looking around.

"Washing blood off of Elliot's face underneath the bridge," Jasper muttered, shaking his head. He led her to a staircase on the other side, still talking. "Basically what happened was that a couple of foul-mouthed idiots accosted me as I was finishing my business and basically _demanded _that I give them my money. I was quite ready to oblige until Sir Walter jumped in and bomped him across the head with that cup of his."

_Theresa did this. She sent them to distract them for our talk. _"Oh no," she breathed, "are you all okay?"

"I am perfectly fine," Jasper assured her. "As is Sir Walter and your friend Elliot, though the boy is a little shaken up. Sir Walter was sure not to kill anybody in front of him, though… thankfully. I still think that we could have avoided this whole situation if he hadn't barged in there like that."

"But he did what he thought was right," she defended. "I wouldn't let anybody rob you either, Jasper!"

"That is the wrong way to think, Princess," Jasper reprimanded. "You'd want to run and get yourself out of trouble. I'm not worth as much as you are."

"_That's_ dumb," she argued. "I'd feel horrible if I ran away – I wouldn't be able to do it. And those idiots might have killed you after they robbed you. You don't know that. Sir Walter was doing what he'd been trained to do."

"There was no chance of them killing _me,_" Jasper said stiffly, though she detected a trace amount of hesitation in his tone. "I've seen it all before – mug and run, mug and run. It hasn't changed since I lived here in Bowerstone, and it never will."

_You're lying through your teeth,_ she thought, but figured that she shouldn't say it. There was no way she was going to taunt him after that. She pressed into his side as they walked, hugging him around the waist. "I'm glad you weren't hurt," she said. "I was getting really, really worried."

He pat her head uncertainly. "Yes, yes, I understand. We were worried about you, too – all alone on the bridge."

Darrina was outraged. "Don't be worried about _me_," she said waspishly. "Don't worry about me ever – you all were lucky you had Sir Walter there."

None of them were going to win the argument, but Darrina felt that she'd made her point. When she saw Walter there by the edge of the docks with Elliot, her heart soared. She ran to Walter and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly and not even caring that the front of his shirt was soaked with water. "I'm glad you all are okay!" she burst out, turning around to hug Elliot tightly. It was more to make the boy blush than anything, and it did. "I wish I'd come with you."

"It wasn't exactly _fun_," Elliot said. "I thought that we were going to die."

"Not when I'm with you, boy," Walter grumped, patting Darrina solidly on her back. "Sorry we took so long. Anything interesting happen on the bridge?"

"Uh… not really," she stammered. "I bought an apple. I got hungry again."

"I guess we did bring the pie with us, didn't we?" Jasper mused, checking the bag on his arm. "Indeed. My apologies, Princess."

"Maybe we should just head back to the castle," Darrina suggested. "We can always come back another day."

"I'm thinking that's a good idea," Sir Walter said. He ruffled her hair. "Sorry again for scaring you, Darrina."

"Don't worry about scaring _me_," she said, miffed. "Now, tell me _everything_, and don't skimp on the details!"


	7. The First Premonition

**CHAPTER 6**

**The next day**

"Jasper, come here, please."

"Certainly, Your Highness."

Queen Illandere beckoned him over with one finger and sat down gracefully on one of the benches lining the Great Hall. Jasper stood ready to assist, but the Queen merely shook her head and patted the seat next to her. "I mean sit. Relax. I need to talk to you."

"On a personal level?" Jasper asked.

"Yes. On a very personal level."

_Oh dear._ He didn't know whether or not he should be nervous, but, like a good butler, Jasper took his seat.

"I'm not going to make it past this month, Jasper," she said quietly, turning to look at him. "Do not ask me why, but I feel it in my heart. I know it's true. Jasper—no, Jasper, look at me."

"You can't be _dying_," he whispered. His stomach seemed to jump into his throat. "No. Madame Loretta is the best nurse in the world, and Lisella could—"

"Shush," she said. "I've accepted that I would die a long time ago. But I didn't expect for it to be this soon… Jasper, Logan is not ready to be King. I tell you and only you this for a reason – I've had dreams. Dreams of bad things that would happen if Logan were to become King right now. I don't wish for this to happen. He needs time to get into place, some kind of way to ease into it gradually. There will be nobody in my place until _you_ feel that Logan is ready."

"Until—now wait just a moment!" he burst out, blinking in shock. Had she really just asked that of him? _Really? "_You want _me_ to deny the throne to him until _I_ believe he's ready?"

"Until you and Sir Walter think he is ready, yes," Illandere said with a nod. "I don't ask this easily—I know it's a burden. But please, you are probably one of my closest friends here. Both you _and_ Walter."

"You cannot be _serious…_"

Queen Illandere looked anything but joking. "I am. Jasper… please. I love you and I don't want to put you in a bad position. This is me asking you, though—me, _Illandere_, asking you if you can take this."

"Madam…" Jasper bit his lip, his heart pounding. "Can I ask how? How do you know… this?"

Illandere shook her head, a smile on her face. "That would be telling," she chided. "Now, there is something I must do before the month ends. I'm going to leave tomorrow and don't know when I'll be back, so it's up to you to take care of the children. Keep Logan straight, keep Darrina away from Percy."

Jasper wasn't surprised that she knew about Percy – she knew about everything that went on in the castle. "I… well, I'll certainly try," he said with a nod. "Yes. Yes, well… may I ask where you're going? Have you let other people know?"

"No and yes," she said. "I'm going to pack tonight; I won't be needing your help."

"Well… uh, very well then." Jasper cleared his throat. "Are you sick?"

"No, no," Illandere said, shaking her head. She laughed a little bit. "I doubt you'll see me wasting away any time soon. Now, then – Jasper, you have your duty. Can you carry it out?"

"Yes, yes, I already said I would," Jasper said a touch testily.

"Forgive me, then," she said with another laugh. "Now, I'm going to go roaming around Bowerstone with Marcus, so I won't be here for dinner. And no, I don't need a guard." She rose from her seat and stretched her arms a bit. "Today is a nice day," she mused. "Probably the last before the spring rains hit."

Jasper didn't answer. He was too busy trying to keep himself together, to act like a good little butler while his Master calmly discussed her demise and, somehow, the weather. _I've always been afraid that this would happen – always, all the bloody time! How does she know? Is she just making it more serious than it really is?_

He already knew in his heart what the answer was. Queen Illandere was normally the one who downplayed everything, who thought about everything, measured every single word with a micrometer. No, she wouldn't do something as vile and underhanded as play tricks on him…

And she was worried about Logan. Logan, her heir – worried about him, as always. How did a butler decide if a child was right for the throne? How did a soldier decided when and where a boy should be crowned?

And how the _blast_ do they work together?

"I suggest you bring an umbrella then, Your Majesty," he said numbly. He wasn't going to suggest that she change out of her royal attire and put on drab traveler's clothes – she was smart, and could probably sneak out of the castle (and in!) if she wanted to, even with all of the guards covering the secret ways.

Marcus, who had been laying at the Queen's feet, got up slowly and carefully, like his bones were feeling stiff and achy. The Queen stroked his back with a frown on her face, and Jasper had a sudden thought that maybe the dog's physical wellbeing mirrored the Queen's own. After all, the dog and the Queen had been together for nigh on thirty-something years now or something, right? It had to be a special Heroic bond or something that kept the two of them together… or something.

"Time to go, old boy," she said, stroking his back. Marcus turned around and gave her hand one lazy lick. "How does one last adventure sound to you?"

Marcus opened his mouth to pant happily, and the Queen messed up his hair with a smile on her face. Jasper sighed, uncomfortable. "Your Highness, why, exactly, do you have to go out and enjoy the town today?" he asked testily.

"Well," she said, "I _do_ need to go and get supplies for the trip."

"The castle—"

"I don't want anybody to know I'm leaving until I'm gone, Jasper," she said, a trace of frustration apparent in her tone, and Jasper knew that somehow, somewhere, he'd crossed an invisible line. "If I take this route, then I can get the things I need without the royal symbols stamped into every damn item. I don't want to be recognized, I don't want to be seen. I'm just a regular traveler on the road, got that?"

"Yes, my apologies, Your Majesty."

"And stop calling me that. I'm Illandere. I'm not going to be Queen much longer, and I hated the title anyway." She seemed to realize how harsh her tone was and her expression immediately softened. "Look, I'm having a hard time, too. This will be the last time we see each other for an entire month, and after that… well. Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes… fine." _No, I'm not fine._

"Sorry again. I'm going to leave now. Please keep a close eye on Logan… but especially on Darrina. Be her friend, help her. She's going to go through a tough time."

"How do you know this?" he asked wryly.

"Just… intuition." She shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry. Sorry a thousand times."

Jasper nodded and took a step back, detaching himself from the situation. "Okay… yes. Yes. I will. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," the Queen said, and, with Marcus trotting behind her on her heels, she walked to the other side of the room and disappeared up a staircase.

That would be the last time Jasper ever spoke to his Queen. He knew it.

**Midnight**

Darrina was not going to go to sleep. The events of yesterday still played vividly in her mind, and she knew that if she closed her eyes now she would only see Theresa in her dreams, smiling at her with clasped hands, Fate Cards littered about her feet. She couldn't get the scary imagine out of her mind, and it only strengthened her resolve _not_ to sleep, to do something other than open her mind up to that woman… that strange, strange woman.

She _did_ try, however. She'd managed to get to sleep the night before with the help of Lisella's special brew, but if she asked for it again she knew that people would start asking questions. She couldn't have them do that, even if it _did_ mean a nice, dreamless sleep. Theresa was _her_ demon, her burden of knowledge.

But she couldn't get the idea that her mother was going to die out of her head, and she had a feeling that she wanted to do something that she hadn't wanted to do for a long, long time: she wanted to sleep in her parent's bed.

Darrina slipped out of her bed and looked around the great, new room. She could blame it on the move, she thought. That was all, right? Now she just had to sneak into the castle somehow without alerting the guards… somehow.

Donning a black jacket, she turned the lock in the door slowly, very slowly, and stole out into the night. She placed her foot on the cold stone balcony and glanced up, unsurprised to see the soldiers standing guard right out there. _Okay, maybe I won't have to sneak past them after all…_

"I want to go inside," she said, approaching the nearest one. "I can't go to sleep."

The man's face softened, and in the moonlight she realized that he was Rupert, one of Walter's men. "Okay, honey, I understand," he said, offering her hand to her. She took it, even though she felt like a baby doing it, and he instructed the other man to double the vigil. Rupert led her down the stairs, keeping a sharp lookout, and led her inside the castle via the kitchens. "Why can't you go to sleep?" he asked.

"I just can't," she said.

Rupert let go of her hand and began to rummage around the cabinets. "Want a glass of milk?" he asked, taking out a glass and offering it to her. She nodded, and he began to get out the jars. "Okay… how about hot chocolate?" he suggested coyly.

"Yes, please," Darrina said politely, slipping into one of the bar stools around the central island. She watched Rupert light a small fire in the fireplace and pour a glass of milk in to a small pan, add small chunks of chocolate bars, and then held it over the flames. He had such a laid-back, casual air that Darrina felt immediately embarrassed for her fears. It was nice, though, to know that Rupert was there – she felt safe, protected. Walter and his men all seemed to have that air of warmth and kindness she loved.

"So how was your trip to the Markets, Princess?" Rupert asked kindly.

"It was fine," she mumbled. She'd rather not talk about that, but maybe she could distract his line of questioning with the wrong details. "Elliot came with us… and then he went off with Sir Walter and Jasper, and some people tried to beat up Jasper. Walter stepped in and roughed 'em up."

Rupert chuckled. "Yeah, I heard 'bout that." He fell silent for a moment, swirling the milk around in the pan, and Darrina feared for a moment that he'd fallen quiet for good. She didn't like the awkwardness she felt around him – she would have been way more comfortable if she'd gone to Sir Walter or Jasper, because then she could just go and sit next to them and have a great big conversation. With Rupert, though, it was different. He was a nice man like many of the people in the castle, but she just liked hanging around with the people she was familiar with better.

A few minutes later the milk had begun to boil. Rupert stirred the chocolate in with a wooden spoon and then poured the mixture into a large mug. He pushed it towards her and sat in the seat on her other side. "One hot chocolate for the Princess," he said with a smile.

"Thank you very much," she said shyly, cupping the mug with two hands. The heat felt good on her palms. She took a few experimental sips, the silence no longer seeming so awkward now that she had something to occupy her hands with. "And thank you for bringing me down here. Normally I sleep really good."

"Well it's a new place," Rupert said amicably. "It's always more difficult to sleep in a new place in your own house than just a new place in general, because you're used to one thing in your house. If you go to a friend's or camp out in the woods, it feels different."

She nodded. "I can imagine," she said. "I –"

She stopped midsentence, cocking her head to one side. A strange noise had interrupted her.

"What is it?" Rupert asked quietly.

She frowned, closing her eyes in concentration. The noise began again… and it was close by. It sounded like a small body moving around the stone stairway that led into the castle. "I hear something moving behind that door," she whispered, pointing to it with one finger.

Rupert slid his sword out of his sheath and beckoned for her to get down. She complied at first, but as soon as his back was turned she poked her head out to see.

Rupert could probably hear the noise, now, too. It was a prance of something on the stone stairway and heavy panting… it had to be a dog, Darrina thought. Actually, the more that she thought of it, the more that she was sure it was a dog. She came out of her hiding place just as Rupert opened the door, standing to one side.

A tiny puppy – long, black hair – wagged his tail happily. "A doggy!" she crowed, coming out.

"A damn dog," Rupert muttered, putting his sword back in its sheath. "Must've been caught in the passageway here."

Darrina dropped to one knee and beckoned; the puppy charged towards her and her hands were all over it, rubbing its belly, stroking his hair. "Oh, he is so cute!" she whispered. The puppy's long, black hair was shot through with strands of pure white, his milk chocolate brown eyes were instantly lovable, and his tongue was a bright pink with patches of blue. "You're a good boy, aren't you? Aw, aren't you a good boy?"

"Good-sized dog," Rupert agreed, kneeling down. He held out his hand for him to sniff. "Atta boy. Good doggy."

"Can we keep him?" Darrina pleaded. "We have to keep him!"

The dog knocked her off balance, and she fell from her kneeling position to a sitting one, where he promptly curled right into her chest, licking her face. She giggled, moving her lips out of her way so she didn't get a full-on dog kiss. The dog was so lovable that it was infectious. "Please, please Rupert?" she asked. "We should get him some food, he's probably _starving._"

"The only reason that boy's probably hanging about is because the kitchen staff leave out food for the chickens," Rupert pointed out. "Look at the belly on that boy – he hasn't been starving a day of his life."

"Rupert," she reprimanded. "Let's get him some food!"

Rupert sighed, and she wondered if she could make it an order. However, before the thought had even fully pressed on her mind, Rupert got up and retrieved a few bits of raw meat from one of the cellars. "Can't believe I'm giving my lunch to a dog," he muttered. "Here boy. Here."

The dog bounded off of her lap and ate the meat out of his hand gratefully. Darrina watched him, entranced, as he ate all of the meat and then some. Getting up slowly, she reached out, about to touch his back and stroke him.

"Careful," Rupert warned. "Don't get between a dog and his food, Princess."

Darrina ignored him and placed her hand on his back, aware that the dog wouldn't hurt her – would _never_ hurt her. It was an insight that took grip of her right to her core, some kind of realization that this was meant to be. The dog paused eating, for a moment she feared that maybe she was wrong, that she _shouldn't_ trust her gut feeling… but then the dog turned around very slowly, holding his breath, and she found that she was, too. Then, meat still in his mouth, meat still on the _floor_, the dog slowly walked to her and placed the remainder of it right in front of her.

Rupert let out a breath of air. "Looks like he thinks you're the pack leader or something," he said. "Odd."

"I love him already," Darrina declared, scratching his ears. "You're such a good boy, aren't you? You're a good boy. Rupert, we must go show my mother. Please?"

"Your mother is probably still asleep, now," Rupert said. "How about we keep him in the hallway for the night, away from the gardens, and show her in the morning?"

"Because mom's awake _now_ and I was going to go to her after drinking this stuff anyway," she told him, reaching over to grab at the leftover meat. She held it in her hand for the dog to eat, which he did hungrily. _He feels like a part of me now. This is strange. _"I'm Darrina," she told him, feeling a bit stupid. "And you're going to live with me. Is that okay with you?"

The dog swallowed his food and barked excitedly. "Shh, atta-boy," Rupert whispered, attempting to calm him down. "Don't go waking up the castle now."

The prospect of Jasper finding them in this situation suddenly gripped a hold of her, and she knew they better get going _fast. _She checked her hands in the firelight, wondering if they were dirty, and was pleased to find that rubbing the new dog hadn't left any tracks of mud or bugs on her palms. Glad, she bent down and picked the puppy up. He didn't even squirm except to make himself comfortable, and then he began to lick her exposed shoulder.

"Come on," she told Rupert. "Let's go, then!"

"Tell that dog to be quiet first," Rupert said suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. He appeared to be deep in thought.

"You have to be quiet when we go inside, okay?" Darrina whispered to the puppy. "We can't wake anybody up."

The dog merely yawned.

"Yeah, he's like you already," Rupert muttered. "All right, come on… I'll come back down later and clean up this mess."

Darrina skipped up the stairs happily, making no noise, and Rupert followed behind. She led the way through the castle hallways, past some of the guards who gave her odd looks, and knew that Rupert was giving them some kind of silent communication behind her. She went all the way up, up, up the spiral staircase to the master bedroom at the top of the castle, panting happily, and knocked gently on her mother's door.

"Come in," a weary voice answered.

Darrina turned the knob and entered, beaming. "Mommy," she whispered, "look what we found in the kitchens!"

Her mother was sitting on her bed, still in her dressing gown, but it didn't look as though she'd even sat down to sleep for the night. Rupert waited politely outside while she threw on an overcoat and lit one of the candles, illuminating her pretty, strong-boned face. Marcus, who was laying on the bed, wagged his tail eagerly.

"Now how in the name of all that is great did _you_ get into the kitchens?" Illandere asked, reaching out one hand to stroke the head of the dog. "Such a cute baby. Here, set him on the bed next to Marcus."

The dog had already caught side of Marcus and had stiffened in her arms. Slowly, carefully as to not startle him, she placed him on the top and took a few steps back.

Marcus seemed to outweigh him by at least a good one-hundred pounds; the dog only made up about an eighth of Marcus' total body mass. Marcus' tail stopped wagging and he became still, very still. The other dog didn't seem cowed, but he couldn't have missed the fact that Marcus was a giant compared to his tiny size. Slowly, very slowly, Marcus sat up and began to inch towards Marcus' face.

Marcus didn't growl, he didn't back away, and the hair on the back of his neck did _not_ stand on end – that was a good sign, Darrina thought. She and her mother seemed to be holding their breath at the same time as the puppy inched closer and closer, until, finally, he touched his nose to Marcus's.

Marcus's large tongue lolled out of his mouth and licked the puppy's entire face. He relaxed and began to kiss his face, as well, and Darrina felt a wave of startling relief.

"Well, that's a good sign," her mother laughed. "That's very good. Very, very good…"

"Found him in the kitchens, Your Highness," Rupert said. "Your daughter was very insistent on bringing him up to see you."

"And for good reason," Illandere said. She reached over and stroked Marcus's side. "You should give him a name, Darrina."

"A name?" Darrina asked, puzzled. "I wouldn't even know where to begin. He kind of looks like a baby skunk, doesn't he?"

"He's going to grow up as big as Marcus, if I'm guessing right," Rupert put in. "My family and I had a lot of dogs growing up. See the width of his legs in comparison to his head? This pup's only about four to five weeks old."

"But where's your mommy at?" Illandere crooned. "Poor baby."

"Marcus is a _big_ dog," Darrina agreed. "But 'Marcus' always makes me think of something huge, and really… noble. You chose a good name for him, because it fits him, but I can't think of what to name this one."

"Hmm." Illandere frowned. "Any ideas, Rupert?"

"Well, ma'am, we did have a dog at the ranch we called Sarge. Biggest, meanest, most protective thing ever. Never left the kids alone, and if one of the other dogs so much as bit at their fingers Sarge would put 'em in their place. He was a bloody bear of a dog."

Darrina _liked_ that story. "How does Sarge sound?" she asked her mother.

"I was debating Bear, but Sarge sounds better," Illandere conceded.

"You'd name a dog _Bear?"_ Darrina asked, affronted.

Her mother shrugged. "I see what Rupert sees – he's going to be very big, very fast."

"How d'you like Sarge, boy?" she asked, sitting on the bed. The puppy looked up at her with those large brown eyes of his, and Darrina knew inwardly that he approved. "Okay, then!" she said happily, clapping her hands. "Sarge it is!"

Marcus glanced up at Illandere, and for one, shining moment Darrina caught a glimpse of just how deep the bond stretched between them. They were connected by something even more than what Darrina felt she had with Sarge, something… something great. And Darrina knew that one day the love and affection that she felt for Sarge would someday grow to mimic her mother's relationship with Marcus. She liked that.

"Now comes the question of why you were up so late in the kitchens," Illandere murmured.

"I couldn't sleep," Darrina confessed. "I came out and asked Rupert to bring me to you, and we were in the kitchens making hot chocolate when I heard Sarge out there in the hallway."

"It's true, Your Highness," Rupert said stoically. "I thought it was a man at first, or maybe some stray animal."

"I'm glad the stray animal wasn't aggressive," Illandere said, sitting down on her bed. She motioned for Darrina to sit on her lap, which she did. "Thank you for taking care of my daughter for me tonight, Rupert. I'll take it from here."

Rupert snapped his heels together and saluted. "Your Highness," he said respectfully, turning around with military precision and marching out of the room. He was careful to close the door behind him, and they were alone.

"So you can't sleep," Illandere muttered, stroking her hair in a motherly fashion. "Why not?"

"I had a bad dream," Darrina said quietly. Best to let her think it was a bad dream than for her to know the _real_ reason. "I can't remember it all, but it was scary."

The normal thing for her mother to do right then would be to jokingly mock her tepidness and send her on her way, but something was off. Something, somewhere, had changed. "Do you want to sleep with me tonight?" she asked quietly.

Darrina nodded. "Yes, please," she said.

"Come on, then," Illandere said, twisting about to undo the covers. "Climb on in there."

Darrina climbed on to the side of the bed previously held by her dead father and tried not to think of Byron dying there. Sarge got up and plopped himself right there in the crook of her chin, apparently ready to settle in for a nice, relaxing sleep. Illandere chuckled and undid her covers, too. She slid in neatly and placed her arm, which seemed to shine softly in the darkness, around Darrina's shoulders.

"Time to go to sleep," she said. "I won't be here when you wake up; I have to travel somewhere. But I'll be back by the end of the month."

"Where are you _going?_" Darrina whispered.

"Just a few things to take care of," Illandere said. She kissed the top of her head; she felt her lips against her hair. "I'll be back before you know it."

"I don't want you to go," Darrina stated. "You shouldn't go."

"But I have to," Illandere said. "I have to go do things, I have a responsibility."

"But you have one to _me_, too," Darrina said. She would have never, ever even dared to play that card, but she was desperate. "Please don't go."

"I'm sorry," Illandere whispered, and Darrina wondered for what. "I love you. I love your brother. I'm doing this for you, so you have a nice world to grow up in. How does that sound?"

"I know why you have to go," Darrina muttered, "but it doesn't mean that I like it."

"I know," Illandere sighed. "I don't want to go, either. I never want to leave you."

"Is Marcus coming with you?"

Dumb question. "Yes, honey."

"Can I come with you?"

"No. You have to stay here with Jasper and help him out, understand?"

"But I can _help_ you," Darrina said. "I could –"

"Shush," Illandere said, stroking her hair. "Just know that I love you so, so much. I'm so proud of you and everything you do."

That was the most uncomfortable moment of her life, or at least she thought so. _She's really going out there, because Theresa told her to! But she's not going to come back, I know it. She's never going to come back._ "Please don't leave," Darrina whispered, clinging to her mom. Her voice shook. "Please don't leave…"

Illandere hugged her close. "I'm sorry."

It seemed like only a short while later that she fell asleep, tear tracks on her face, still clinging to her mother. She never felt her leave the bed, never saw her pack up her travel things, change into rough travelling clothes, and open up a window. Marcus trotted downstairs and through the spiral staircase, but Illandere merely took one last look at the bedroom and stepped into the open air.

Even so, it was dawn when Darrina awoke. She'd slept surprisingly well, but the thick sense of unease in the pit of her stomach hadn't yet departed. When she realized that her mother was gone, she began to cry. Sarge licked her face, whining a little bit.

Eventually, though, everybody has to live their lives. Everybody has to move on. So Darrina climbed out of bed and put on clothes that her mother had apparently laid out for her. Looking in the mirror, she pulled her hair back and braided it behind her head, her eyes puffy and red from crying.

"Time to meet the staff, Sarge," she said quietly, glancing out the window. Her mother seemed to have opened it in the early morning and now a soft breeze was making her cold. She closed it gently, her eyes falling on a note addressed to Sir Walter in her mother's curvy, sloppy handwriting.

She thought about opening it to see what was inside, but decided against it. Slipping it into her pocket, she prepared to go downstairs and face the world head-on.


	8. Suspense

**CHAPTER 7**

In fifteen days, a lot can happen. For one, you could fall out of a tree. For another thing, you could push somebody _else_ out of a tree. So many possibilities.

Elliot was a refresher to her days of worrying. Logan, her brother, her other half, didn't even seem concerned about their mother's disappearance. He'd brushed it off with a shrug and an "Oh, well" and went on his merry own way. Darrina, however, had found a sympathetic ear in Elliot, who, she was pleased to note, was very much his own person and, despite being a bit of a coward, was all right. He was chivalrous and nice, sweet and caring.

She and Elliot rarely spent a day away from each other during that time period. He kept her preoccupied with thoughts of the outside world, what was _right_ instead of what was wrong, and how to be happy with herself. They played hide-and-seek, talked of large and far-off things, and they even, eventually, got on to the subject of whom they would like to marry as they got older. It wasn't as awkward as a conversation as she thought it'd be, thankfully, and Elliot seemed genuinely curious to know what her type was. She was curious about his type, too, so it was, as he would say often, a 'win-win' situation.

The incident with the tree only came along when Percy decided to show his fat ugly face at the castle again. She hid in the trees, quite aware that he was about to climb up one and steal some apples. She waited for the opportune moment and, when his back was turned and he was reaching for a delectable fruit, she kicked him right out. He made the funniest noise when he landed, too.

What was better, he didn't even know that she'd done it. His cries had alerted the guards, you let Sir Walter know, and Sir Walter took that boy all the way back to his house and gave his mother a talking-to that would probably become urban legend soon enough.

Darrina didn't forget about Sir Walter, either, no sir. She delivered that note to him, but secretly. She placed it underneath the crack of his door while he was still sleeping and scurried off into the distance, Sarge trotting happily at her heels.

Everybody _loved_ Sarge, too. He would never leave her side, either, just as his namesake hadn't. He liked Elliot, too, which was a pleasant surprise, and he and Elliot got along very well. Sarge would often trot up to Elliot and just look at him, just stare, and then Elliot would stare back. They had these staring contests for a long time, and the longest that the both of them had gone for was one minute before Elliot broke down laughing.

_He's a sweet boy,_ Darrina thought, assisting the kitchen staff in picking apples while Sarge just pranced about, barking happily at things he found interesting like butterflies or small squirrels.

Darrina loved him so much, truly. Sarge seemed to have been sent from heaven or some other wonderful place. She couldn't wait until their relationship mimicked her mother's with Marcus. That, she thought, would be a wonderful thing indeed.

And Marcus had lived long, long past the regular dog years. In fact, he'd lived for about twice, maybe even three times the normal lifespan of a dog! He always seemed frozen in time, though, or perhaps time was just moving very slowly. Heroes never really aged all that fast, right? They just hit a certain point in their lives and just went stagnant.

_I'm still afraid. I'm always going to be afraid. Mom's doing something dangerous out there and she has no help, none at all._

Jasper was always trying to get her to tell him what exactly passed between them the night she left, but all Darrina could tell him truthfully was that they decided on a name for the dog and that was that. She'd mentioned she'd have to go somewhere and wouldn't be back until later, but other than that it was all said and finished and _over._

Darrina wished that she had said something else… _anything _else.

_Where are you going? _I can't tell you.

_Why not? _Because I love you.

Yes, that had pretty much been the gist of the conversation, and it still made Darrina's cheeks flame up in embarrassment as she remembered her reaction to it. It was stupid and childish and she shouldn't have done that, but it had been a very primal thing, a very primal reaction. She just didn't want to be left alone… was that so wrong? Did she have to be embarrassed by it?

The answer was yes. She was always going to both treasure that moment and wish that it had never happened.

So what could she possibly do? What could she do in the time that it would take her mother and Marcus to come back, half-dead and tired and worn out? And _yes_, she knew that the situation was like that because she could feel it, feel in her heart. Something bad was happening in a far-off place and her mother's energy was being sucked out from her by the hour.

It wasn't good. Even on sunny days, laughing with Elliot, sopping wet in the lake with Sarge, Darrina felt as though there was a dark cloud over her, seeping the happiness out of the situation and leaving her cold and empty.

_Dad wouldn't have let her go off like that, _Darrina would sometimes think to herself. _She loves him a lot. If we'd all asked her not to, she wouldn't have. I know she wouldn't have._

The days passed by at crawling speed, and every day after dinner Darrina would look towards the doors, hoping beyond hope that her mother was coming back.

_Please come back._

Finally her wish was granted near the end of the month. She'd just lain down to sleep, Sarge curled up contentedly besides her, stroking his fur with her free hand while she tried to calm her mind. Sleep wasn't coming easily, even with how exhausted she was after playing with Elliot all day. She had her eyes closed, though, but that only served to heighten her senses to the area around her.

A door closed in the gardens. Boots slapped against damp stone.

She and Sarge twitched at the same time, united by a sudden feeling that something, somewhere, had changed. Sarge got up and walked to the edge of the bed, a growl building up in his throat. Darrina pursed her lips and climbed out, adrenaline spiking through her body and making her senses somewhat more acute. "Who's out there?" she whispered to herself, crossing to the window.

In the moonlight she could see small shapes moving about in the garden below; the guards seemed to have broken rank, or perhaps some of the guards form inside had come out to fill in the other ones on something.

_Mom._

Darrina put on her coat, unlocked her door, and swung it open. "What's going on?" she demanded of the nearest guard.

"I don't know," he answered honestly, peering downstairs. "Perhaps you should stay in your room, Princess – "

_Nice try, but no._ Darrina took off, Sarge at her heels, and went down the stairway as fast as she possibly could – and ran right into a large, burly man waiting for her at the bottom. "Oof!" she slammed right into him and his arms slid around her before she could fall back down on to the pavement.

"You need to watch where you're going," Sir Walter admonished. "Why are you up so late?"

"Mom's back, isn't she?" she breathed. "I want to see her."

"Your mother's resting now," Sir Walter said gently. "Come on, I'll take you to her."

The door to the inside of the castle opened, and Jasper, his face as expressionless as stone, his shoulders tight with tension, looked at them. "The Queen is dead," he announced quietly.

"What?" one of the guards snapped. "How?"

"Explain," Sir Walter thundered.

"Not right now," Jasper said with a meaningful look at Darrina. He cleared his throat. "Princess, I – go find your brother. You two should be together right now."

"What happened?" she demanded, her throat feeling as though it were closing with her own fear. "Tell me!"

Jasper didn't look like he wanted to do that. In fact, the man looked almost _sick. _"Not right now," he said. "Please, Your Highness, trust me."

"_No._ Tell me what h-happened to my mother," Darrina demanded, annoyed at how her voice seemed to shake in the sentence. She glared at him through her tears, a feeling of anger overflowing in her veins that she'd never felt before. She would kill him if he didn't tell her, she decided. She was either going to kill him or, or… something else!

Jasper placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off. "Tell her what she needs to know, butler," Walter growled. "And tell me, too."

Jasper looked as though his head was on the chopping block, but Darrina was too angry, too sad, too maddened by grief to even give a care about him or his feelings. _He_ didn't matter any more, but her mother did. _Mom. Mom's dead. How did she die?_

"I don't know," Jasper said honestly, his voice trembling slightly. "She arrived on the doorstep with a horse. Very weak, her skin was very cold. I took her up the – I took her up the staircase, to take her to bed… Madame Loretta was with me… she needed to sit down. We – we sat her down…" Jasper sniffed, his eyes watering, and he took another moment to compose himself before saying, "We sat her down and she leaned against the wall. She closed her eyes and… and now she is dead."

Darrina took off.

Her mother wasn't on the staircase that Jasper described, but instead somebody, maybe a guard, had moved the body to her bed. She was lying there peacefully, her skin pale as the moonlight. She no longer had that glow about her, however. Now she was just a regular person, just a regular _dead_ person.

Darrina ran for her and hugged her close, sobs overpowering her fragile self-control. _You said you wouldn't go,_ Darrina whispered to herself. _You said you would come back!_

The Queen of Albion was dead. Her mother was dead. Nothing was right with the world.

After a long, long while, Darrina was aware that somebody was missing. Somebody else should have been on that bed, too. "Where's Marcus?" she whispered quietly to the air.

"He passed away during their journey," somebody whispered behind her. "The Queen said she buried him outside of Bowerstone, in the forests there."

Sarge whined at her feet. He'd lost a very good friend of his.

Soft hands began to pull Darrina away from her mother's cold and frozen body. "Come on," Sir Walter said hoarsely. "Come on, girl. Time to go."

"I don't want to go," she whispered.

"Can't help it. Need to get you out of here."

"Why?" she asked brokenly.

"Not something you should see. Let's find your brother – come on, now."

Sir Walter picked her up like she was four years old again and carried her down the stairs. She cried openly on his shoulder, sobbing her heart out as she remembered each and every memory of her mother, each and every time she'd kissed away her tears or gotten angry at her.

_Dad wouldn't have let her go off like that, _Darrina had sometimes thought. _She loved him a lot. If we'd all asked her not to, she wouldn't have. I know she wouldn't have._

But now Darrina knew the truth:

_Theresa asked her to go. She gave up her life and left me, left everything, because Theresa told her to go. And Theresa's going to tell me to go somewhere one day._


	9. Hammer

**CHAPTER 8**

Dressed in somber black clothing, the Prince and Princess stood as still as granite statues at the front of the crowd, gripping each other's hand as their mother's body was lowered gently into a white marble tomb by two of her old guard. Somebody had dressed her in her best white silk dress, a beautiful one with intricate light patterns and designs that only a master could imprint on such temperamental fabric, and the hem of her dress was as red as the blood flowing through their veins. Her raven-dark hair flowed freely over her shoulders, brushed and cleaned of debris, and her strong face was pale and devoid of all color and life.

The Queen of Albion was a beautiful woman in life and in death, her purity and kindness of heart emitting strongly through her physical appearance. _The best of us, _Walter thought darkly, his eyes fixed on the coffin. _And now she's dead._

He'd done his part; he'd mourned and cried like the rest of them, but he did it on his own time and away from everybody else. All that was left was this bitter feeling in his stomach and a need for action – any action would do. He hated looking at her arms and remembering how soft they were, he hated looking at her face and expecting to see it flicker with some form of life, and he hated it even more when his mind told him that the picture wasn't right.

She should've been buried with Marcus. He had half a mind to send a team to find the burial site outside of Bowerstone, but he doubted that they'd ever find the place. There was no telling which way she'd come in, and 'outside of Bowerstone' could mean a variety of places that weren't at all safe for him and his men to traverse.

The crowd that had come to mourn for her was even larger than the one that had come for King Byron, unsurprisingly. Everybody from Bowerstone seemed to have come and at least attempted to pay their respects, but only those who arrived early in the morning had front row seats to the burial. Everybody else was in a single-file line snaking through the palace, watched closely by the palace guards stationed on triple-shifts around the procession.

A solidly-built, red-haired man in the guard unit approached him, caution written in his posture. "Sir Walter," he said in a quiet voice that didn't carry, "there is a woman here who insists on seeing the Queen's body for herself. She claims to be Hannah of the Temple of Light… and she's brought Marcus with her."

Walter stirred from his contemplative state and nodded shortly. "Bring her in, then," he said stiffly, glancing towards the door.

Hannah was just as large and formidable-looking as he remembered, dressed in rough, dirt-ridden clothing that would give Jasper a heart-attack if he noticed. Her hammer was strapped across her back on a strong leather fastening, just as he remembered, but her face was older and lined with premature wrinkles. Her red hair, pulled back in dreadlocks, was beginning to gray around the temples…

And in her arms she carried a misshapen lump covered by a heavy woolen blanket. "Sir Walter," she said quietly, hardly seeming to be aware of the commotion she'd caused among the guests. "I'd bow, but I don't want to drop the dog on your feet."

Walter merely nodded, his eyes raking her form. "You've been doing okay?" he asked her pointedly.

Hannah nodded. Her face was paler and grayer than he remembered it being. "I helped her with her mission," she said, shifting Marcus in her arms a little bit. "She had to get back before time ran out and I wasn't in the right position to tag along. I followed her trail maybe a week later, going as hard as I could."

"She only got back last night," Walter said suspiciously.

Hannah's face was as set as stone. "She was slower than she used to be. Anyways, I found… erm, Marcus as I made my way here. I dug him up myself. I just had this feeling…"

Walter steeled himself and peeked underneath the blanket; Marcus's face was calm and relaxed, his eyes closed. His fur was warm from the blanket. "You cleaned him up, didn't you?" he asked hoarsely.

"Best I could under the circumstances," Hannah replied heavily. "I figured that she didn't have much time left… the two of them were always together. It's the right thing, burying them together like this."

"Yes… yes, it is." Now it was _Walter_ who was fighting the tears again. "Place him – place him next to her. Keep him in the blanket."

Anybody who watched would not have objected that this was the wrong thing to do. Walter snuck a look at the two children and felt his heart twist in pain when he saw Darrina's face crumple in realization and shock. Logan, eyes shining, hugged his sister tightly and bowed his head to disguise his tears.

Hannah placed Marcus very gently into the marble coffin and stood there for a moment looking at Illandere's face, shaking her head softly. Walter was just close enough to hear her mutter, "You saved my life, Sparrow. Only fair that I give yours back to you. He was always such a good dog… remember when he retrieved that Hollow Man head during the Ritual of Purification? He waited ten years for you while you were at the Spire. Burying him had to kill you." Hannah took a shaky breath, steadying herself. "World's a lot of a darker place without you. You chose a hell of a time to leave."

Hannah withdrew, her face stained with tears, and glared at the ogling crowd. "What?" she challenged. "Haven't you ever seen a woman with her dog before?"

Nobody was brave enough or stupid enough to challenge Hannah. She scowled at them and retreated until she was next to Walter. "Did you carry him the entire way here?" he asked in an undertone.

She nodded shortly. "I walked the entire way. Horses can't take my weight, but I can go on longer than them anyway."

Hannah sure as hell was built like one. It was hard to believe that he was one of the men she'd chatted up in Bloodstone oh so long ago while scoping out the terrain… The two of them weren't close, but Walter knew she was a steadfast girl with a good heart. "Weren't you in the north?" he asked.

"Got an urge to come see this old place again," she said distantly, a far away expression on her face. "I missed her a lot."

Walter nodded, and it felt like his throat was beginning to close up again. "Yeah," he muttered. "I miss her. Best damn thing that happened in this world. I still don't even know how she died. Nobody does."

Hannah looked away. "She gave her life for you – for all of you," she said, gesturing with a grand hand towards the collected audience. Her voice barely carried, thankfully, but Walter, who knew a thing or two about Heroes, had the slightly inkling that maybe Darrina would be able to pick up their conversation even as far away as she was. "I can't tell you what we had to do, but it was just the two of us out there. It was… well, it was kind of like old times." She chuckled. "Just without the constant running from Lord Lucien."

"What happened out there?" Walter pressed, dropping his voice even lower. "As head of security, I _need_ to know."

"It doesn't matter any more," Hannah said, shaking her head. "We set out and did what we each needed to do. The last thing she ever did was bury that damn, lovable dog of hers. Did her kids even see her before she died?"

"The girl did," Walter said with a dry mouth.

"Darrina?" Hannah asked. "Sparrow said… well, she told me a lot about Darrina. And about Logan, too. Nice enough kids… it's horrible to lose both of their parents so young, though. When I lost my father… well, I got angry. It's what drove me to kill Lucien, you see. I know, a pacifist monk slaughtering a bunch of Spire Guards must have been an odd thing, but it was something I _needed_ to do. The two of them won't have that kind of direction – they're going to be hurting."

"For a long time," Walter said. _Logan's lost both parents now. Darrina only _thinks _she has. _"I have a feeling I'll be stepping in more often now… I can't just leave the two of them without some kind of parental authority or… or something. Sparrow must have left something in her Will or something."

"I won't be sticking around for the reading of _that_," Hannah said. "I'm hurting, too. I… bringing Marcus here's taken it out of me. I might have to rest here for a bit before setting out again."

"Stay as long as you'd like," Walter said. "If Sparrow wouldn't mind, none of these pansies will, either."

"That's the thing – I _can't_ stay here," Hannah said, shooting a sideways look at the children. "Just… I can't. And don't tempt me. I'm going to go get a room at the bar in Bowerstone Marketplace later."

"Well that's pointless," Walter said. "Why don't you want to stay here?"

"I'll never stay in the palace of the one who killed my father," Hannah muttered. "I know that he's dead, but I still can't do it. It's hard enough being here now – but I would be here forever if Sparrow asked me. I loved her. She was like the sister I never had. My best friend in the whole world."

"She held you in high esteem." Walter felt he had to say it. "She hated being Queen with every fiber of her being. There were days when she would just look to the ceiling and mutter, 'Where the hell is Hammer when I need her?' She never forgot about you. She'd tell stories to her kids about you and Garth."

Hannah's breathing caught, and she wiped her hand across her eyes. "Not about Reaver, I hope," she said, attempting to joke.

Walter snorted. "There are some stories about Reaver that give me chills at night," he said seriously. "I don't know how much the two of them know about him; most of the info's probably from outside sources. Sparrow didn't like talking about him much."

"Reaver's an ass, but he's a useful one if you can get him motivated," Hannah conceded. "And I'm just glad he's far, far away from here. I think he knew that if he came back and made trouble, Sparrow would be on him faster than a blink."

"With the Queen dead, we're left open and vulnerable," Walter said. His fingers stroked the inside of his jacket lining, where a note addressed to him from the Queen was protected inside one of his secret pockets. It had appeared under his door just a day after her departure. "People will expect us to elect a new monarch, but the thing is, the only heirs we have can't even have a legal drink yet."

"Don't go giving the crown to a child," Hannah said sharply. "Don't put so much responsibility on them. Let them live and – "

Walter nodded, cutting her off. "I'm not planning to. Sparrow left explicit instructions to wait until Logan is ready before allowing him to have the crown. She trusted me with making sure it follows through… hopefully." He sighed heavily. "Balls. I don't know, Hammer. This is just getting too sad and depressing for me. I'm tired of my friends dying. I'm just tired in general, I think."

"She wouldn't want you to think like that," Hannah pointed out. "You have a job to do. She trusted you enough to do it, so you better."

Walter shrugged. There was really no arguing with Hannah, Heroic bloodline aside. She was genuinely a nice person who struggled with her feelings of violence every day. Just a usual person, attempting to help as best she could through the body she'd been given. Yeah, he could work with somebody like Hannah… _Too bad that more people aren't like the two of them. Life for me would be loads easier._

"I'm not shirking from my duties," Walter said stiffly. "Simple stating of a fact. But I have ties here I'm not exactly ready to leave yet."

"Yeah, I understand," Hannah said with a nod. "It's sad, isn't it? All of these people lines up to attend the funeral of someone they hardly know? It kind of… resonates on a deep level. She really saved them."

"She saved us all."

"Yeah… without her, everybody would be in a bad, bad state," Hannah said. She sighed. "You and she had something special, I think. She really did love you."

The letter in his pocket seemed to be burning. "I do my job," he said carefully. "I don't know what you're talking about. We were good friends."

"I know what happened in Bloodstone," Hannah said gently. "I saw the two of you kiss before she escaped through the tunnels. She told me about what happened ten years ago."

Walter pursed his lips. "Let's not speak of this."

"I'm only talking about it now because she _asked_ me to," Hannah said, the first touches of irritation creeping into her voice. "Walter, she loved you. A lot. And she told me, me personally and _only_ me, to tell you that she begs you to keep the product of your love safe from harm. She wants you to begin training the girl. She thinks that she has potential… Goodness knows she'll need it when she's older."

Walter had to wipe his eyes. "She's always been my Queen," he said hoarsely. "From the moment I met her."

"I know this is an off question," Hannah said hesitantly, "but… did Byron know?"

"Byron didn't," he replied. "Nobody else does, except for you."

"Then your secret it safe with me," she said. "You should be proud of her, Walter. I've heard so many good things – "

"I'm perfectly proud of her, thanks," Walter snapped.

"No need to get defensive," Hannah retorted. "I've known her longer than you have. This is hurting me just as much as it's hurting you, you know."

"I sincerely doubt that," Walter muttered, then winced. "Sorry. I'm letting my mouth go on before my brain can catch up. I understand and… thanks. And thanks for bringing Marcus back. It just wasn't right without him."

"I know," Hannah said, glancing at the tomb. People were walking by it to take one last look at the Queen… at the rate the line was going, people would be finished in perhaps an hour or two. Logan and Darrina stood to the side, out of earshot. "She was always going to be buried with him. They had the strangest relationship. It was so… in-depth and wonderful. They were always in synchronization, you know?"

"All the time, every time, every day of the week," Walter stated. "Only few times I've seen that dog away from her was when she'd send him off to watch over the kids."

"I could see her doing that," Hannah chuckled. "She was probably a very interesting mother to have. I wish I could've seen her style…"

"She loved her kids," Walter said. "She would've done anything for them."

"It must be so hard for them right now… I feel so bad about it. But we did what we had to do, you know? We went out there and we tried to… well, we _did_ finish what we set out to do. I've never felt more drained, though. I think it's time to settle down… she told me to do that, you know. Settle down, live a decent life. Something full of wonderful things like a man I love, kids who hate and adore me at the same time…" Her voice broke. "She seemed so happy. Why is it that she had to go? _Damn it_, I've lost her. Her and my father. Some wonderful life I've led. The only thing I've done in this life is screw things up for everybody. Maybe I should just give up. Slink on home until the world needs me again. Take a nice, long break."

"You should do it," Walter said. "Do it. I mean it. Albion can get by without two Heroes."

"Without four, you mean," Hannah said. "Garth's disappeared. Reaver's gone. I'm the only one still out here now… taking a break now would be too selfish."

"Do what Sparrow told you to do," Walter said seriously. "Stay here in the castle, help us – "

"I'm not staying here," Hannah said firmly. "Never."

"I'm sure the kids would like to see you, then," Walter pressed. "Come on, go say hello."

"I can't talk to them," Hannah said, shaking her head almost before he'd finished the sentence. "Another reason I can't stay. It's not proper. It's not _right. _I'm sorry, it's just… I can't."

Walter opened his mouth to argue, or at least ask _why_, but a movement near the front of the line distracted him. A large, heavyset and balding man had lumbered towards the casket and hadn't left yet. His beady eyes were narrowed as he looked down upon Illandere's body. "Get a move on, now," Walter called, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. "Off you go."

"I proposed to this woman once," he announced, glaring at Walter. "I proposed to her years and years ago before she even became Queen of Albion – _I_ already knew her for what she was. And she rejected me! I showered gift upon gift on her! I offered my home to her. I offered my _life_ to her, my store, my _love._ She never took it, do you understand? She never did. And if she had, she would still be alive today!"

"No, she wouldn't be," Hannah retorted angrily. "Move your sorry ass down the line, pal. She told you no a long time ago – ages, actually."

"You don't _understand,_" the stranger bellowed, coming a few brave steps closer and shaking his fist in their faces. "I have every picture I've found of her hanging in my rooms – I've got a letter from her saved in the most expensive framing – I have pieces of her hair, don't you understand? They're in a crystal vial next to my bedside. I even have a photograph. A _photograph._"

"What the bloody hell is a photograph?" Walter snapped. "Actually, screw that, I don't _care._ Move it, your pervert, before I show you an end of my sword I reserve only for special occasions."

The man reached into a deep pocket in his trousers and took out a pistol. Walter was moving before he could even clear it from the pouch, slipping forward and slicing off his arm in one smooth, fluid motion. Hannah's large, meaty arm shot forward and grabbed the screaming man by the neck, lifting him up to her considerable height. "You _stalker_!" she snapped, and threw him right back to the ground.

The guards were on the man in an instant. Dark crimson blood spread across the cobblestones, gathering in a large puddle at Walter's feet. He glared at the man and considered ending his unfathomable short life then and there, but he could feel the stares of Darrina and Logan there behind him and knew that he wouldn't be able to do it. They were traumatized enough as it was, anyway. He placed a boot on the man's chest to stop him from rising and gave Hannah an appreciative nod before gesturing to Madame Loretta and Lisella next to the kids. "You might want to take care of that," he told them, kicking the man over. "Bollocks, how the hell did he get in with a bloody fire arm? Are we or are we not doing weapon checks at the door?"

"We _are_," Rupert snapped, hauling the man to his feet.

Lisella, a slim, mouse-haired woman of about fifty, placed her hand on the man's gory stump and pinched an artery with her thumb and forefinger – the jut of blood stopped at once and slowed down to a trickle. "You better go get my supplies, young man," she told Rupert. "But I probably won't be trying _too_ hard to save him."

"Either way works for me," Walter said darkly. He pointed at Jasper, who was standing behind the kids looking appalled. "You. Get them out of here, they don't need to see this until we get it cleaned up, understand? Blast it, get that bloody dog away from here!"

Sarge had taken it upon himself to come and sniff at the pool of blood curiously, keeping well away from the strange stalker. Walter didn't care how bloody interesting it smelled, though. He just wanted the animal away from the guests.

Darrina trotted forward, pale and sick-looking, and gathered the puppy in her arms. "Is he going to be okay?" she whispered fearfully as Lisella and one of the other men basically hauled him through the side-door into the kitchens. "Or is he going to die?"

"This is madness!" one of the men in the crowd yelled.

Some of the women were sobbing. "This is just horrible," one wailed. "Why did it have to happen now, of all times?"

"And that _gun!_"

"Was he going to hold us hostage?"

"He should die for that! He endangered our lives and interrupted a – "

"There's so much _blood…_"

Walter dithered on the spot and just held up one finger to Darrina, motioning for her to wait. "Go with Jasper," he said sharply, turning to the crowd. "_Calm down! _Somebody got a bit overzealous with his emotions and has been dealt with. We won't be having that kind of behavior here, understand? So if _anybody_ has a weapon on them and makes this much trouble, they _will_ be dealt with! Show respect for your dead Queen of Albion."

"I want everybody to leave," a strong, pubescent voice rung out.

Walter jumped and looked back around. Logan, his mouth set in a grim line, had marched up next to his sister, his back straight, his chin held up high. "You heard him," Walter said after a second of hesitance. "Everybody _out_."

"But what about all of the other people in the castle?" Darrina asked.

"I want them all out of here," Logan said, his voice trembling slightly with the stress. "Just—just get them out."

"By order of the Prince – get the hell out," Walter ordered.

Hannah clapped her hand on his shoulder, startling him. "I'm heading out, too, but I'll carry the tomb to the Catacombs. That's where you're putting her, right?"

Walter nodded shortly. "I'll unlock it for you," he said. "Let's wait until everybody files out, though. I need to make sure none of them are going to linger or double back."

Slowly the crowd filed out of the garden, through the double doors, and eventually out of the entire castle all together. "There will be complaints of this in the morning, you _must _know this," Jasper said. "Hopefully you can deal with them without angering the populace."

"They'll have to get over it, then," Walter grumped. "Okay, Hannah, you and me, then. Kids, stand back."

He and Hannah walked over to the tomb and took their one last look at the Queen. "Sorry about this, Sparrow," he whispered fervently. He and Hannah placed the heavy lid on top, sealing her and Marcus from view. The lid was heavier than he'd expected, and left tiny indents on his fingers. He _definitely_ didn't want to drop that on his foot if he could avoid it.

"I'll take the children back inside," Jasper said, his voice shaking. "She never did want them in the Catacombs."

"But wait!" Darrina said. She turned to Hannah, that dog still held tightly in her hands, and asked her, "Are you Hammer?"

Hannah nodded once. "Yes… yes, I am. I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Mom loved you a lot. Can't you stay afterwards? I want to – I want to talk to you."

Hannah shook her head. "No, sweetheart. I have to go back home. I only came because I didn't think your mother could make it back on her own. I followed her here."

"Is that how you got Marcus?" Logan asked quietly.

"Yes," Hannah said. "Yes… I brought him for her."

"Then you should stay," Logan said. "As a guest. Please."

Hannah shook her head again. "No. I can't, I'm sorry. I doubt I will ever see the two of you again, so… It was a pleasure meeting you. I wish I could have seen you under better circumstances."

"You can't just go right after this," Darrina said stubbornly. "Please don't! I _really_ need to talk to you. About Hero stuff."

Hannah's expression became more careful, more neutral. Walter had an inkling that she knew just as well as he did what Darrina was talking about. "I can't," she said quietly. "It's not my place."

"It's Theresa's, isn't it?" Darrina muttered sullenly.

"Theresa's an instrumental part in it, as the Guild Master," Hannah said with another nod. "By the time the next Hero arises, I'm going to be dead. It's how the world works sometimes. I just wish it didn't work like that all of the time."

"That's unfair."

"It is, isn't it?" Hannah sighed and bent down, hugging the two of them. Darrina gasped when Hannah's skin touched hers, and Walter could have sworn he heard something like an electric shock. "You two be good for Walter and Jasper, okay?" she said hoarsely. "Your mother wouldn't expect anything less."

"Yeah, yeah," Logan muttered. "Did you travel with her before? Wait – yes, you did. My apologies."

"Talking like a King already," Hannah said with a smile. "Go on, now. Go with Jasper."

Jasper took each of their hands and led them away, but Walter had the feeling that the separation was harder for the Princess than it was for the Hero of Strength… and he had an inkling why. It was too bad that it was none of his business, despite his ties to her; the world of a Hero was something that he wasn't educated in, and it wouldn't do to put his nose in where it couldn't and shouldn't belong.

"On three, then," Hannah said in a restrained sort of voice when they disappeared. She squatted down and picked up her handholds on one side, Walter on the other. "One, two – three." They lifted at the same time, with Walter having much more difficulty than the mighty Hannah. Being the Hero of Strength had it's benefits, but he wasn't going to complain. She took most of the weight for him, thankfully, and he had a feeling that she may have been able to take the entire casket for herself had she thought it wouldn't be improper or hurt his feelings.

No, Walter _did_ want to be the one to carry Illandere to her final resting place, right next to her husband. That was what he needed to do, he thought, for some nice, even closure.

Jasper came out of the door and hurried on ahead to open the Catacombs in the back with a special key off of the Queen's personal set. Now they were all going downhill, and Walter had to huff and puff as he continued on. He had to make sure he didn't drop the casket, which would be horrible. Logan would probably order him beheaded if it came to _that._

"I figured that you may need to open the door," he said quietly, turning away so Walter couldn't see his face. "I'll be inside."

He left, and it was just him and Hannah again.

The Catacombs were dark, cold, and dreary; Walter didn't like these ones any better than he'd liked it the first time. He _hated_ small, cramped cave spaces with a burning passion. _I should've brought a light,_ he thought grimly, his heart beating furiously underneath his chest. _Can't believe I forgot a light. Blasted, blasted fool I am. Stupid. Let's hope we get there quickly so I can get out._

The small, dark hall way eventually broadened out into a large, dome-shaped room. The road continued on straight towards the center, where a large, royal statue of a woman with her hands clasped together awaited. It was at least eight times as tall as he was, and it only averaged about half of the room's height.

King Byron's tomb was on the left of a large circular depression in the floor. Hammer took one look at that depression and scowled. "She told me that she built this place," she said with a look around. "Reminds me a lot of the Guild Hall back at Bower Lake. I think I prefer the other one better, honestly. It had a lot more history… still, though. It's amazing that she was able to do this."

Walter could only grunt an affirmative. He knew that if he began to talk he would drop the Queen's tomb. Hannah didn't seem to have this issue at all, and _she_ was taking most of the weight. She led him to the right side and they set the tomb down carefully.

"This place is protected," she said with a slight shiver. "There won't be any Hollow Men in this room, I don't think… but…" She glanced at the circular rune and seemed to debate stepping on to it. Finally she put one large foot in the middle, and then the other. Kneeling down, she ran her fingers over the cool ground. "Definitely Sparrow's work, here. I can feel it."

"The only thing I'm feeling is cold and lonely," Walter grumped. "What does all of this mean? The statues? The art?"

There was also art and pictures lining the walls, but Walter couldn't exactly go around and peruse anything – there was a steep drop off on each side of the narrow road.

"It's sort of copied off of the Room of Heroes back at Bower Lake," Hannah explained. "At least I think so… But now I think I understand Theresa better, what she told Sparrow… Yes, I do. It's all here, it's all explained _right here._"

"_What_?" Walter asked curiously, coming closer to observe the stone circle.

"This has to be activated by magic," Hannah said softly, closing her eyes. "It makes it unique to only her or Garth… but I bet that Darrina, the youngest, took on her mother's calling. She's a Hero, and you know it just as well as I do. She'll be a Will user, too. A powerful one."

"You're saying that girl's going to start spitting out fireballs like no tomorrow?" Walter demanded. "Because I might need to get a bucket of water first just in case."

Hannah nodded, apparently still deep in thought. "This is an escape from the castle," she finally said. "This leads outside, probably. I don't know where it goes, but maybe Sparrow left something for you guys… I don't know. Did she ever mention anything, did she ever leave you a letter?"

"She did," Walter confirmed, feeling the inside of his jacket lining. "Right here, as a matter of fact… It mentioned something like this, but I didn't understand it. She said that somebody would explain it to me, but if nobody came then Darrina would know."

"Read me the letter," Hannah said.

Walter took it out of his jacket and opened it up, his eyes already tracing over the familiar, sloppy script of the Queen of Albion. It was a letter that seemed to have been written in haste, but she always worked better like that, he remembered. She always had thought better on her feet than when she had to sit down and think it all through thoroughly.

"I'm not sure if I want to read you everything," he said quickly. "Some of it is… well, personal."

Hannah giggled sadly. "Just read me the parts you feel comfortable sharing, then," she said.

Walter cleared his throat and began to peruse the letter once more. Like the good, organized person she was she left all of the mushy parts at the end, so he didn't have to make too many adjustments.

"Dear Walter," he began. "As I told you before I left, I won't make it until the end of the month, and therefore I am writing this to you, and only you, to use at your need. This is mostly information that you'll find you'll require in the future – probably about ten or so years from now.

"One day you will need to escape the castle with my daughter and Jasper. People will turn against you and you'll have to run away in the dead of night. You may not be able to leave through the front entrance, so it's up to you to lead my daughter to safety through the Catacombs. I know you do not like them, but too bad. Use a fire spell to awaken the statues and steal through the caves. Go as hard and as fast as you can, but be wary because I cannot guarantee the safety of the place. You will end up in a room magically sealed off from the others… I have left another book for Jasper there to help guide my daughter down the path of being a Hero.

"The book is important, and so is the place I have left it in. If you have ever needed a place of true Sanctuary (she capitalized it here, that's odd) then this will be it. Time stops in that room, allowing rest and relaxation without the waste of days or age, but be wary. The Sanctuary will not last long if my daughter or I are killed. I don't even have a guess of what would happen to people there should the gateway be closed or one of us killed. It's our combined energy that holds it together.

"There will be no Heroes left in Albion save for my daughter when the time comes. I will have passed, Hannah will have passed, and Garth, I believe, is already dead, shot in the back by the insufferable Reaver. He is not a true Hero, and any opportunity he hands to you will be honeyed with lies and deceit. Do not trust him to help you.

"My daughter's capabilities will extend even farther than mine, I believe. Darrina will have innate command over sufficient Will powers, but I would also like you to teach her how to use a blade and fire a weapon since I will not be around. I know it is not traditional, but it must be done. Just keep it between yourself and your men and I think everything will be fine. Do not allow Logan any knowledge of this.

"Logan will go through a tough time in the near future. I love him, but I can't interfere. I ask you to do what you feel is right and advise him as he takes the throne. He will go on a journey one day and come back a vastly different man. That, I think, is the time that you should start preparing to leave. While it breaks my heart to allow Logan to fall like this, I must make this sacrifice for the good of all in the world. This stretches farther than Albion, Walter. Soon the entire world will be involved, and it will be up to Darrina to save them from the Darkness and decide the fate of Aurora.

"Major Swift is a good man – KEEP IN CONTACT WITH HIM. He will prove useful in the future. Also keep in contact with the various mountain dwellers and refugees around, even Page. Stretch your feelers out and make many friends, because you will end up calling on their help later.

"The importance of being a Hero is keeping your promises. You MUST keep them, no matter what. The way of a Hero isn't easy, always filled with the pitter patter of demons in your deepest dreams. Knowing that you have the power of life and death itself can be maddening for some. Others may think it entitles them to their power. It does not. To be a boss, one must first understand what happens below, first. One must broaden up their minds and see beyond their selves. They have to find balance and harmony within themselves first if they wish to open themselves up to change and reshape the world.

"Darrina has a task set for her that she cannot deny. She has already met with Theresa and received her Fate Cards – they are in motion now.

"Also, about the Sanctuary. My weapons are in there. I have my katana and a hammer I picked up in my travels. While the hammer is effective, I've only seen one person in the world who can use it effectively. I suggest training my daughter in the katana first, because she will need to use it. The katana and the hammer are aligned to my spirit and energy, and once I die they will reset and remain neutral until Darrina picks them up. They are virtually living weapons and will grow and advance alongside her. There will be a few ranged weapons and gauntlets available to her as well. The gauntlets will channel her magical energy into something even more devastating than what I can do on my best day.

"I am not giving up on my son. I love him so much, and I've never wanted something to happen less. Unfortunately, though, it has and will happen. Be for him, Walter, be his friend. Let him trust you. He's still just a scared little boy who has now lost both parents."

Walter had to stop reading out loud. His throat was beginning to close up again. He cleared it and said quietly, "And the rest is kind of… mushy. I can't read it."

Hannah was completely quiet. Walter glanced over towards her and realized that she was bent over double, her head on her knee, shoulders shaking. Hesitantly he went over and put his hand on her shoulder. "There there," he muttered thickly. "She wouldn't want you acting like this."

"She was my best friend," Hannah whispered to the darkness. She sobbed freely for a moment and then took a deep breath that somehow stilled her shaking. She stood up on steady feet and crossed over to her tomb. With a grunt, she slid the cover of it off to expose her face.

Walter watched her cautiously, wondering what exactly she was going to do… and then, to his surprise, she took out a knife from her pocket and, with a serious look on her face, cut off one of her red dreadlocks and placed it next to her. She placed the knife back and took out a battered old coin with a symbol he didn't quite recognize on it. "Here's my Guild Seal," she whispered, setting it down on Illandere's mane of raven black hair. "Most precious thing in the world to me, but I don't want it any more. I don't want any of this any more. My time's up and… and it's time for me to get moving on, you know? I think you'd understand."

"She would," Walter whispered. "Yes, she would."

Hannah left soon afterwards. She just kind of drifted away from him with the stealth of a thief in the night and left. The last sight Walter ever had of that woman was her back as she strode quickly and confidentially down the Royal Road that led to Bowerstone Markets.

He felt exhausted and drained from the day's exertions. He went back out to the gardens with Variel to wash the blood out of the cobblestones despite what the cleaners told him to do. "It's not right, we'll clean it up!" they argued.

"Yes, but I made the mess, and therefore I should clean it up," he said. "Just give me a scrub brush."

They didn't argue too much and let him go on with the job, which was nice. The only reason Variel was there helping him was because he had the shift off. Eventually the stains were removed from the pavement, though Lisella or somebody would probably have to use some kind of acidic mix to remove the dark shadow that looked as though it were on the stone.

Speaking of Lisella, she and Madame Loretta had tended the stalker's wounds quite well. He was taken back to the Markets in a carriage courtesy of Lisella because, as she put it, "I am not having such disrespectful, slanderous filth in my kitchen, my room, or in my personal bubble at all!"

The man, whose name happened to be Edger, wasn't conscious to hear her remarks. He'd lost so much blood that he'd apparently slipped into a deep sleep… though if Walter recognized the smell of sweetness on his breath correctly, then he'd just go ahead and assume that Lisella had put him to sleep with one of her 'special' brews.

Lisella just happened to be a woman in the forests that Illandere had met years and years ago. She knew a lot about plants and potions, which some deemed to be witchcraft, and hadn't very much settled into the royal life. She was blunt to all except the children, she was exceptionally bright, and she knew how to take care of herself. When she said that she was going to take Edger to the doctor's in the Markets herself, nobody really objected because, after all, the woman was a powerhouse with a sharp knife and a very quick hand.

After that Walter's shift was over… and he didn't know what to do with himself. He was off until the next morning, and it was only the late, late afternoon. He wasn't exactly hungry and his hands weren't clean, so he didn't really think that being in the kitchens would be the best place for him at the moment.

"Go take a bath," Variel advised him. "Then just go to sleep. We've all had a rough day."

Walter took his advice and washed until even his _bones_ felt clean, but he wasn't planning on going to sleep. He needed to go talk to the children… he needed to go talk to the ones who were affected more than anybody out of all of this.

He knocked quietly on Logan's door. "Come in," the boy said. He opened the door and revealed him sitting at his desk, staring out of the window at the front gardens. He glanced around quickly. "Oh. It's you."

"Yeah, it's me," Walter said heavily, lumbering over to sit on the edge of his bed. "How are you holding up?"

"Miss mom," he said stiffly.

"I know," Walter sighed. "I do, too. She left for you, though."

"Don't care," he muttered, shaking his head. "Don't care. She should've stayed. If she loved us she would've stayed. Didn't even tell me that she was leaving. Wasn't even worried. I was wrong. Darrina was worried. I wasn't. She's smart, I'm dumb."

"You're not _dumb_, now," Walter said. "You weren't worried because she always goes off on these sorts of things. Remember how she was gone for four months once and didn't tell anybody where she was going? And it just turned out that she was visiting Oakfield?"

"Everybody was so worried," he muttered. "They should've been _more_ worried this time. You should've sent people out to look for her after you realized that she was gone."

"She did tell us that she was leaving a day beforehand, though," Walter said. "We weren't worried. She said she would be back inside of the month… and she was. She just didn't stick around for, uh, a very long time."

"Did she even mention me before she died?" Logan asked quietly, his face streaked by tears. "At all?"

"She couldn't talk," Walter said softly. "She could barely walk. I think she was delirious with fever, too. She'd used the last of her strength to get back to the castle, to get back to _you. _To get back to your sister. You two were her life, you know. I know she couldn't show it as much as she wished because of her position, but you were. She did everything for you."

Logan's face crumpled, and he folded his arms across the desk to bury his head in them. His shoulders began to shake with sobs.

Walter got up and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his mind going to the letter in his pocket. "Balls, I'm so sorry, kid."

Illandere was, too. She must've felt worse than he did, knowing her child was going to turn out to be a traitor to her name in the long run.


	10. Reaver's Bad Influence

**CHAPTER 9**

It took a long time for Jasper to get used to the Queen's unending absence. The knowledge of it hung heavily in his mind for years afterwards, and often he would wonder what, exactly, she would do in _this_ situation or say in _this _instance. Her children continued to grow up without her, time moved on, and there was no respite from the everlasting, grueling, day-by-day toil that was stepping into the role that she'd asked of him.

There was nobody in line to take the throne, and though the people of Albion demanded that somebody take the seat, neither he nor Walter gave in to their desires. A small circle of people the Queen trusted to run Albion had been chosen by her in her own Will to run the country until Logan was ready to take the kingdom, and they got on reasonably well. Jasper and Walter were always included in on their debates and their opinions were given much weight, which always surprised the gentile butler. He loved Albion, true, and he might have some fine ideas once in a blue moon, but most of it seemed to be over his head in many aspects. Walter didn't seem to like it, either.

Logan, however, threw himself into Albion's politics a mere six months after his mother's death. He made it his business to know everything of everyone and everywhere in the kingdom, and though he was merely a Prince, many people began to respect him as the future King. He was smart, clever, and picked up the subtle nuances of politics and people-work very, very well and fast. He was the exact image the people needed: the young, orphaned son of a great Hero, rising to the challenge of running a country faster and with a more level head than most of his peers. In fact, he could almost be considered a prodigy of sorts in the world of ruling a country – of ruling _Albion._

Jasper, however, had his fears. While Logan would make a _very_ good King, he was still too young. There wasn't a real age-limit for that type of thing, but there should have been. Logan never got to go and be a kid. The days of playing with the noble boys were all but forgotten as he threw himself bodily into his work. Jasper constantly tried to remind him to go out and enjoy himself, but the only person Logan seemed to listen to any more was Sir Walter, who had become his advisor on many matters of importance.

Jasper tried not to feel snubbed in any way. After all, a young man such as he probably didn't want to spend his time listening to the advice of a _butler._ But still, it stung. He just tried not to show it.

Things were changing in Albion at a rate he wasn't entirely comfortable with. The first of the changes began when, nearly a year after Illandere's untimely death, a black carriage trimmed with pure gold pulled up in the front gardens and courtyard. Jasper, who happened to be out there talking to Lisella about an upcoming dinner party, eyed the carriage suspiciously. It was drawn by two large, muscular white horses that looked as though they'd been whipped recently. The driver was a short man in a top hat who brought the carriage to a sharp halt, climbed down, and opened the carriage door with quiet pompousness.

A black boot touched the cobblestones, followed by a nice, sharply-dressed man in a top hat. A strange birthmark on his left cheek in the shape of a heart gave away his identity immediately, but Jasper would have known who he was anyway just by the singular air of cruel, unjustified power that emitted off of his very body or the antiquated, beautifully crafted weapon hanging on his belt.

Reaver had come to the castle.

He tapped his black, shiny walking stick on the cobblestones appreciatively as he eyed the castle. "Wonderful, wonderful," he said in a cheerful voice. "Good. Needs to be a bit spookier, though, in my taste. People can't really respect what they don't fear… but no matter. Charles, get my bags."

"Excuse me," Lisella said indignantly, walking right up to the man with her hands on her hips. "And what exactly is your business here, Reaver?"

"Oh, _Lisella_," Reaver gushed. He reached down and took her hand in his own, bending down to kiss it. "I do remember our marvelous time together all those years ago. I hope that you have just as many sweet memories as I do."

"You can burn in hell," Lisella said waspishly. "And in case you have forgotten, I got what I desired from you, and now you're nothing but an insect mooching off of a dead Queen. I'd just as well Queen Illandere threw you to the dogs that night."

"Such a charming personality as ever, my dear," Reaver said with a charismatic smile. "But you're comparing me to mooching off of a dead Queen when you still take up residence in her castle? I'm insulted, dear Lisella."

"Keep that forked tongue inside your mouth, you killer, and do not hand out your honeyed poisons here," Lisella threatened.

"Contrary to your apparently _strong _belief, my dearest lady, I did not come for you. I've come for – "

"I know you've come for Logan," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You will not get to see him."

"Once again, you have not lost your charming personality, dearest Lisella," Reaver said. "However, this is not the time for a woman to be telling me who I may or may not see. What you're going to do is scurry along now while the grown ups converse, understand? Toodle-loo."

Lisella's face went a shade darker than normal. "I know your secrets," she hissed. "I know about Oakvale and your role in that. I know about the Shadow Court, and so did Lionheart. So you better watch your step around me. You can't kill me, either, you frog. I've made sure of that."

Reaver's face froze in a smile. "Oh, you did do the thing correctly, then, didn't you?" he asked.

"Too right I did," Lisella countered with venom in her voice.

Reaver nodded once and glanced over at Jasper, who'd been standing behind her awkwardly, his mind struggling to keep up with the riot of conversation. He'd never seen Lisella in such a temper before, and knew without a doubt that Reaver was just as vile and repulsive as Queen Illandere had claimed. He had an air of charisma about him though, that, as slimy and disgusting as it was, seemed to pull Jasper inwards. He _wanted_ to agree with the man, he found, and he had to fight that urge very hard. "You, what is your standing here?" Reaver barked.

"I am the Queen's butler," Jasper said stiffly, all of those feelings being wiped away in an instant. You did not go around speaking to people as though they were _dogs._ "And you, sir, don't seem to have an appointment."

"Surely the Queen's own _son_ would like to see somebody so closely related to her?" Reaver beamed.

"Fat chance," Lisella snorted. "Go back to where you came."

"Enough," Reaver snapped. "You do not address guests like that – it is improper."

Jasper felt a sudden chill of cold air that seemed to carry feelings of death and dismay. "The Prince of Albion will not see you," Jasper said, clasping his hands behind his back to disguise their trembling. "And you, sir, will have to depart now." It had to be one of the most courageous things he'd ever done in his life, he later reflected.

"No," Reaver said with a chuckle. "Must we be enemies so soon? I'd at least like to get through tea with you before you make that assumption. Have I killed anybody close to you? No? Taken money from your dearest grandmother? Burned down your house? Slept with your wife? Slept with both of your wives in the same night?" Reaver chortled. "You, sir, have nothing to fear from me as long as you do your job. Now, take me inside. You'll show me to a room where I may put my things, and I will have a talk with the Prince."

"I'm afraid that won't happen," Jasper said stubbornly.

Reaver sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine, fine, you wish to be difficult? Then I will concede. Now, nobody here get too excited…" He took his gun casually from his hip and cocked it, pointing it at Jasper's forehead. His face twitched in anxiety. "Now do you see the gravity of the situation? I could kill you if I wished, and I would get away with it. Now, what are you going to do?"

"You _bastard,_" Lisella whispered sharply.

"Now, now, madame, if you've done what I think you've done and made a deal with the Shadow Court, then you can't harm me." Reaver smiled. "Just as I can't harm you. But I _will_ put a round through this nice man's balding head if he doesn't do as I say. Do you believe me, dearest?"

Lisella pursed her lips. "You will not get away with this," she said in a trembling voice.

"I believe I just have," Reaver said happily, placing the weapon back on his belt. "Lisella, be a dear and help Charles carry my bags. I simply can't be rude and let him do all of the work… and remember whose life is at stake here."

Jasper was amazed at the man's nerve, but he was more focused on the gun than Lisella's widened eyes and outraged stance. He turned around, closing his eyes to compose himself, and led Reaver into the castle. The guards along the sides of the room watched him suspisciously, and Jasper saw one of them detach themselves from the regiment – probably Derryl – and disappear up one of the side stairs.

"Such a _lovely_ place," Reaver said, looking around. "You could live very comfortably here. It almost reminds me of my home back in Bloodstone… well, before the Spire guards _trashed_ it looking for your dead Queen, I mean."

"You mind your manners when you talk to Logan," Lisella whispered harshly. "What in the bloody hell do you want to talk to him about anyway?"

"That is between me and His Royal Highness, I believe," said Reaver flippantly.

Jasper led him up one of the side staircases to the guest quarters and gave him the first room that was open. Reaver walked in past him, a large smile on his face that quickly diminished. "This won't do," he said. "No, not at _all._"

"If you're expecting the Queen's own bedroom you are _vastly_ mistaken," Jasper said sharply. "You will sit here and you will like it." He swallowed. "And if you kill me for it, I know of plenty of people here who would take a serious issue with that."

He just hoped that Sir Walter was one of them.

Reaver laughed. "I would never kill you for something as trivial as _this_, my friend."

"Yes you would," Lisella said harshly. "Now quit your games."

"Yes – yes, this is getting rather tiresome. Lead me to the Prince at once!"

"You are going to stay _here_, Reaver," Lisella said. "Jasper, you go tell the Prince what is going on, and when the Prince decides to see you he will see you. If he doesn't want to, then you will leave and not bother us any more."

"I'm shocked," Reaver said humbly. "Such manner you treat your guests. Very well, I shall wait here with you, then. Perhaps we could… relive some of our fonder memories of each other?"

Lisella scowled at him. "Never."

_What a lovely relationship they have…_

Jasper never did find out what Logan and Reaver discussed, because Logan had apparently told Walter to leave the room. Insisted, actually. It was probably some strange sort of way of saying that he was a grown-up man now, but, really, he wasn't. Logan was a mere fourteen years old and not a man by anybody's standards. Maybe another year, maybe two… but Jasper wasn't looking forward to it.

Logan would not say what he and Reaver talked about except that he offered him a deal that was 'stupid.' Reaver didn't leave the castle after his talk with him, though, and it was with disgust that Jasper had to wait upon him in his rooms.

There was one dark, terrifying moment that stuck out above all others in his mind, even past the threat on his life. He walked in to Reaver's room with a cup of tea that he had requested only to see Darrina sitting on his bed. Reaver's gloved white hand was stroking her face thoughtfully. "What the devil are you _doing?_" Jasper demanded, placing the tea on the table.

"She came to my room out of her own volition," Reaver said simply.

Darrina closed her eyes, biting her lip. Sarge was sitting at her feet, staring intently at Reaver. "I wanted to greet our… guest," she said lamely. She stood quickly, glaring down at Reaver with frightened eyes. "You are truly evil and corrupted."

"You so look like your mother," Reaver said. "But you don't act like her at all, now, do you?"

"What do you mean?" Darrina whispered.

"You came to my room wondering if she was wrong about me," Reaver laughed. "Didn't you? Your mother trusted the blind woman with such a naïve air. She didn't even give me a chance. You're far too trusting for your own good, Princess."

"I'd trust Theresa over you any day," Darrina said, narrowing her eyes.

Reaver laughed. "Would you, now? That such a mean thing to say. Is there nobody left in this world who trusts Reaver for being Reaver? I'm hurt, Princess, deeply hurt."

"Not hurt enough," Jasper said defensively. "Princess, get out of here. Allow me to tell our _guest_ how to treat a young lady. A _young_ lady!"

"You felt it, didn't you?" Reaver taunted her. "When I touched your face, I did, too. I know what you are now. That's all I came for, little Hero."

"You came for my brother, too," Darrina snapped. "You came to twist him under and around your finger. Luckily for you he's not so stupid. Finding out which one of us was the Hero was only a secondary plan for you, am I right? You wanted to see what position you were in after my mother died. You wanted to know what kind of foothold you could get. Well, now you know who will give you trouble in the future, and _I_ will, soon as I'm old enough."

"_Now_ you're becoming more like your mother," Reaver said. "Making promises she can't carry out. I like you already."

Jasper and Darrina exchanged a look, and Darrina abruptly left, her shoulders stiffened and her head held high. Sarge growled at Reaver, his hair on end. The puppy had grown a lot in the past year and was nearly half the size that Marcus had been… which was pretty big, come to think of it. "Oh, get out of here, you rabid animal," Reaver said lazily, kicking him away.

Sarge bared his teeth and snapped at Reaver's ankle, biting down hard enough to elicit a scream of surprise. Reaver reached for his weapon with hands quicker than a striking snake, but the man, in his folly, had placed it on the table next to the tea. Sarge began to drag the man off of the bed. "Get off, get off!" Reaver yelped, attempting to kick him off with the other foot. "You're tearing my pants, you fool!"

Darrina appeared back in the door way, her eyes narrowed. "Sarge – _out._"

Sarge released him immediately, a growl building up deep in his throat, and Reaver sneered at him. "Yes, yes, we all know you're posturing. Get out of my sight, you animal."

"Good boy," Darrina congratulated him, kneeling down to stroke Sarge's back. "Did you get a good chomp in for me?"

"I hope you'll be leaving soon," Jasper told him quietly.

"You can have every assurance of _that_," Reaver snapped, examining his damaged leg. "That damned dog is lucky I'm in a tolerant mood today."

Darrina and Sarge stalked out of the room, but the point was made. Blood dripped from the hem of Reaver's leg and on to the carpeted floor. Jasper sighed, foreseeing the future clean-up, and just left the room.

Reaver left the castle in the middle of the night, skulking away like the thief he was. Jasper later found Darrina and asked her what, exactly, happened in the room. "I came in about a minute before you did," she muttered, busying herself with her drawing. She'd taken up a few artistic hobbies since her mother's death and was currently working on her graphite skills by drawing some of the statues around the castle. "All he did was tell me to sit on the edge of his bed and said he wanted to try something. He said not to be scared. He touched my face, and it felt exactly the same way that it did when Hannah hugged me a year ago."

Jasper wasn't a dumb man. "You're a Hero, aren't you?" he breathed in shock. "That's why Reaver came."

"I think so," the eleven-year-old said, pursing her lips. "When Hannah and I touched, I knew everything about her. I knew that she was nice, but tired, you know? And when Reaver touched my face, I saw every horrible thing he'd ever done… I saw how evil he was, I saw how… how he came to be what he is now. Isn't that the oddest thing? I didn't get a long enough look… but it's there. There are connections there that he didn't give me enough time to make. And now he knows everything about _me._ He'll use it to his advantage if he doesn't kill me first."

"Reaver would never dare kill you," Jasper said stiffly. "Not with Sir Walter around."

"There's a _reason_ he's lived so long, Jasper. He's nearly as old as Theresa… probably even older!"

"Then how is he still _alive?_" Jasper asked, his eyes widening.

"The Shadow Court," Lisella whispered, emerging out of a side door. She appeared to have been listening. "Every fifty years or so Reaver sends a young man or woman to the Shadow Court in Wraithmarsh with a dark seal. The Shadow Court takes their youth from them, leaving them a broken and empty shell, and in return Reaver does not age. He's played this game for _years…_ I don't know how he's managed to keep it quiet for so long or gone unpunished."

"How do _you_ know?" Darrina asked incredulously.

"Reaver and I have a history with each other," Lisella said softly. "It's bitter and dark, but it's there. We each used the other for our own gain and both of us think that our needs were more… well, better than the other's. But Reaver is only out for his own gain, and what I wanted was simply revenge against a very bitter, broken-down man."

"Reaver?" Jasper asked.

"No, not Reaver – another man. Another… murderer. He left me in the woods to rot and fester, but there were people there who knew of his intentions. They let him leave me there and then nursed me back to help, teaching me what I needed to know… They are the reason I'm still alive today, fifteen years later." Lisella pursed her lips. "The only one in the world who knows of the exact turn of events now is Reaver, and he won't hesitate to use it against me. But I know very powerful secrets of his, too. He won't dare move against the castle while I'm still around, I don't think. He's afraid of the truth, he just doesn't know it yet. Age hasn't made him any wiser to anything deeper than the depth of his crotch, I'm afraid."

Jasper hadn't known that. As far as he knew, Lisella had simply sprung into being with her witchcraft and bad temper – to guess at a story behind it wasn't something he actively thought about. This revelation of her past, however small, surprised him; Reaver must have really worked her up. "I'm so sorry," he said.

"Don't be," Lisella said with a shake of her head. "What I've done in my life were my choices and my regrets to live with. I'm just explaining Reaver to you. Darrina, I have known what you were from the moment I laid eyes on you when you were born. Your mother knew, as well. And I have a feeling that the fortune-teller visited you, hasn't she?"

Darrina nodded. "She… did, yes."

"Be careful of Theresa," Lisella whispered. "Be very, very careful. She may act like she wants to help, but she has her own motivations. Your mother never fully trusted her after she took the Spire for herself, and I think that should say something. She was never really wrong about anybody she's ever crossed, and she's known Theresa for a _very_ long time."

"When did you meet this woman, Darrina?" Jasper asked with a frown. He was worried she'd somehow gotten in the castle, which would be a very, very _bad_ thing.

Darrina winced. "She told me not to tell anybody," she muttered, bowing her head. "Especially not to my friends."

"Because the only friends you had at the time were adults who knew the world and it's schemes better than somebody your own age," Lisella muttered, shaking her head. "What did she tell you?"

"I'd… rather not say." Darrina looked uncomfortable, but her head was tilted at that stubborn angle that Jasper recognized almost instantly. "Sorry, Lisella. And sorry, Jasper. I didn't mean to not tell you, I wanted to so bad when I first saw her… I was just afraid. And then Mom left and she came back and she died and I knew that I shouldn't mention it."

Lisella and Jasper locked glances. "She met you on your tenth birthday, didn't she?" Lisella demanded, instantly making that leap of logic. "Your mother left two days after your trip to the Markets… Did you and Walter leave the girl alone at all, Jasper?"

"Uh…" Jasper winced, remembering. "Yes… for a good half hour at least. Perhaps forty-five minutes."

"Why?" Lisella asked sharply.

"He, Elliot, and Sir Walter went to take a pee and left me n the bridge," Darrina muttered. "And apparently while they were peeing some thugs tried to jump Jasper, and Walter took offence and things got ugly. While that was happening, Theresa and I were… having a conversation. Somewhere. And I'm _not_ saying any more!"

Jasper frowned, running through the day's events in his mind. For the life of him he couldn't remember if Darrina had seemed any different between those times he saw her, but all he could recall was her instant concern for his welfare and an argument about a few minor details in his story. The Queen's departure had overshadowed the rest.

"You should have told me, Princess," Jasper said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked away from his eyes, biting her lip. "You've gone through a lot this past year, but I want you to trust me like you did before," he pleaded. "Let me help you."

"I _do_ trust you, Jasper," she said brokenly. "And I trust you, too, Lisella! And Sir Walter, and Sarge, and… well, a whole lot of other people. But this is for me, this is… just for me. She said that my future doesn't belong to anybody else, only I should know it. She was just the giver."

"Was there something bad in your future?" Lisella asked.

"She… gave me some Fate Cards," Darrina muttered. "And told me what they meant. It wasn't pretty good."

"What were they?"

"The Relic, The Night, and The Mage," Darrina muttered. It made no sense to Jasper. "I don't even really know what they mean, only what she's told me and that could be a dozen different things or ideas. I just don't know, I am so _confused._ And then Mom left and she came back and died, all because Theresa asked her to go. And I'm pretty sure Theresa went to Hammer, too, because that would be the only reason Hammer would even _know_ of Mom's state since she's all the way up there in the North. Then Hammer said she was going to die by the time I'm a real Hero, and Garth is probably already dead. Reaver just keeps living because of his stupid deal with the Shadow Court, and he's not going to be a real Hero – he's like an anti-Hero or something. He's evil and self-centered and, and… and so _stupid_. He's going to make things _really_ hard for me one day." The frown on her face looked like it was going to be etched there for the next ten years.

"I think Theresa likes to be in the center of things," Lisella said carefully. "I have no clue what mission your mother or Hannah went on, but I'm sure that Reaver wasn't a part of it."

"I don't know," Darrina muttered. "I just don't know."

"When you touch somebody, you can tell if they are a Hero or not, can't you?" Lisella asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you touch Theresa?"

"Theresa is an Immortal," Darrina said. "She… had the same energy as Mom, but her's was different. A lot older."

"Well, I'm completely lost," Jasper said.

"As am I," Lisella muttered. She sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter yet… but we must keep this between the three of us. This shouldn't be spread about."

"Even Reaver's situation?" Darrina asked.

"Reaver is _my_ case, not something you should be concerned about yet," Lisella said roughly. "I'll make sure Reaver pays for his crimes, have no doubt of that."

"You're a scary woman," Darrina told her. "Hey, can you teach me some of the stuff you know? So I'm better prepared, I mean. I've been wanting to ask you for a year, but I didn't know how to make you not suspicious."

"Oh, honey, I've been suspicious the entire time. I always am." She laughed, though it sounded a bit forced. "Come up to my room tomorrow and I'll get you started on a few things… is that fine with you, Mister Jasper?"

Jasper had never quite made it a secret that he didn't approve of Lisella's unusual tendencies, but different times called for different strategies… and different morals, it seemed. "I don't," Jasper muttered. "But don't use any of the things she teaches you for… mischief. Especially with that boy you're so fond of."

"Elliot?" Darrina asked innocently.

"Yes, _Elliot._ The blonde cry-baby."

Darrina smirked. "His voice is starting to crack now," she said wryly. "It's kind of cute."

"Cute, indeed," Jasper muttered. "The two of you stay where I can see you."

"And _no_ in the middle of the night visits," Darrina said, rolling her eyes. "You know, sometimes I think you underestimate my maturity, Jasper."

"You're only eleven," he admonished. "Even if you _are_ exceedingly clever and grown-up for your age, it is my job to look out for you."

"Jasper," she said with a knowing smile. "Would Elliot and I ever do anything like _that_?"

"Like what? Pardon?"

"Like _sex._"

Jasper's eyes bugged out. "When did you learn about _that?_" he asked in shock, his stomach doing flips. "How in the blazes - ?"

"I'm eleven, Jasper, not six," she admonished. "I know about lots of things."

"Well you keep that knowledge to yourself!" Jasper reprimanded. "For heaven's sake, Walter just talked to Logan about that the other _day._ How long have you known?"

Lisella laughed openly. "I told her a long time ago, Jasper," she said, placing both hands on Darrina's shoulders in a motherly way. "She asked and I answered. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and she _is_ more mature than most twenty-year-olds out there."

"_Lisella –_ that's not your place!" Jasper snapped. "It was her mother's, and then it fell to Walter and I – "

"Please, Jasper, would _you_ rather give her all of the gory details?" Lisella asked with a laugh. "See? I thought not. Besides, it was a _girl_ conversation."

"A _very_ girl conversation, Jasper," Darrina said seriously. "And you _really_ don't want to ask any more questions."

"No, no, I think my inquisitiveness has been sufficed for the day," Jasper said, shaking his head. "You both are going to be the death of me. I can feel it already. Oh…"

"But you love us," Darrina said wryly.

"I love _you_, yes. Very much, in fact," Jasper said. "Lisella… I'm not sure if I'm fond of her at all or not…"

Lisella snorted in a very unladylike manner. "Please, Jasper," she said, flicking her hand in the hair like whisking away an irksome fly. "Anyways, the reason I came down was because Loretta was looking for you. She wants to get your new dresses fitted."

Darrina's face crumpled. "You're _kidding._"

"Come on, go be a Princess for once," Lisella said. And, to Jasper's amazement, Darrina sighed, got up, and left. Lisella flashed him a waspish grin that only looked a trace fake. "Some week."

"Some week, indeed," Jasper said, shaking his head. "If I have to endure any more weeks like these it will be almost too much, I think."

"If the girl is what she is, though…"

"She is. I believe her… I'm worried about it, but I do believe her. You don't?"

"No, I do," Lisella said. "Reaper was mighty interested in her after his talk with Logan. Actually, I tried to keep the girl away from him as long as I could, but I should've guessed that he wouldn't have left without making sure that there was no threat."

"That man is a vulture," Jasper muttered disgustedly. "A bloody vulture. I can't believe Queen Illandere let him live as long as she has."

"Well she needed him, didn't she?" Lisella asked.

"Yes, indeed…" Queen Illandere had required Hammer – or Hannah as she preferred to be called now – and Garth and Reaver to activate some sort of magical relic at Theresa's urging. It was only through the uniting of the Four Heroes that Lucien could have been defeated. Afterwards, as far as Jasper knew, Hannah had went to visit the warrior monks in the North and Garth had returned to his home of Samarkand… though Reaver, in his insufferable pigheadedness, had followed him. The Queen of Albion had also been allowed one wish from Theresa, the new 'Seer' of the Spire. Only allowed to pick one of three, the Queen had chosen to have her loved ones resurrected. Lucien had killed Byron and Marcus prior to his death. "Though I don't approve of the Seer allowing him to leave for Samarkand. They could have killed him right there, you know. Four against one."

"Reaver is a crafty bastard," Lisella said. "There would have been no way that they could have taken him on without one of them being killed in the process." She shook her head. "And you forget about our Queen's mercy, and Hammer's. Theresa and Garth? I'm not sure about those two, but Sparrow and Hammer were nice enough and powerful enough that everybody just tends to agree with them."

"Lest they catch a hammer in the face," Jasper muttered wryly.

"Those who disagreed with their point of view seldom walked this world upon their meeting," Lisella said with a slight smile. "I miss those days."

"I sure don't," Jasper said fervently.

"Why not?" Lisella asked him with a chuckle. "You had to do nothing. I, meanwhile, was organizing a resistance."

"A resistance against Lucien, yes," Jasper said. "But you're forgetting about my time _here. _The castle was always empty, the guards were cold, and every day there was a different protest rally in the front gardens. It was horrible. And when Lucien _was_ here… well, the entire castle took on a bit of a demonic air, to put it lightly. Lucien took out his anger on the staff – he never killed them, though. I suppose I should count myself lucky in the fact that he had enough minions waiting aboard the Spire for him to do that. Near the end of his days, a Commandant took control of the castle. He wasn't above terrorizing his subjects, and he would often send Spire Guards to take care of anybody in his way. Being butler to a man like that was horrible, but I couldn't escape. Once Lucien was killed, I could breathe again."

"I've heard stories about that god-awful time," Lisella said. "It's too bad you didn't have more guts – you could have poisoned Lucien's drink when he wasn't looking. All in the name of good business."

"But then who would be to blame?" Jasper shot back. "I thought about it, sure, but… dear, oh, dear, I would never actually _kill_ someone in cold blood. I'm just not like you."

"And you think that _I_ kill people because I like it?" Lisella snapped. "I kill out of necessity. I don't enjoy it, but that's that. I figure that anybody that I'm required to kill is either stupid or on Lucien's payroll. Killing the last was merely business, but killing the first? That is a favor to Albion."

"I'm sorry," Jasper apologized humbly. "I didn't mean to be rude or to presume. I am not you. I shouldn't pretend that I understand any of it."

"Just like I can't understand why you'd prefer to let people walk all over you rather than stand up for yourself," Lisella said, crossing her arms. "But you know, that's okay. I figure as long as there are less people in the world out there like me than like you, everything is okay and I'm doing my job. Unfortunately, Reaver's name still isn't crossed out yet…"

"I'm not so sure that you could kill him easily, despite your practice," Jasper said seriously. _Oh, God, here I am talking about destroying another living, human being. What have these people done to me? _"He's a powerful man."

"Not that powerful," Lisella said. She chuckled. "Not that powerful… and I don't break my promise. I promised to kill him one day, and I shall."

"I don't doubt you'll try," Jasper muttered.

"I'll prove it to you one day. You may not realize it now, but I will. I promise I will."

A year passed:

Sir Walter began to teach Darrina in earnest how to fight as a warrior should, cloistered away from the others. Sometimes Jasper would watch them from the uppermost window in the room that once belonged to the Queen. It had the best and only view of the area behind the Catacombs, which was to be their little training ground. Meanwhile, Logan fell off of a horse and broke his arm. Also, Reaver never showed his face, much to Lisella's discontent.

Another year passed:

Darrina's thirteenth birthday and Logan's sixteenth were celebrated on the same day since they were two very important numbers. Elliot got Darrina a light blue patterned scarf she took to wearing everywhere, even in the summer; Logan was, finally, told that he may take the kingdom for himself.

Logan's reign began very well, and the people congratulated him. He was popular with his citizens and they with him, though the toils of being king weighed heavily upon him. Jasper noticed more and more that he was more eager for adventure than he had been before, and despite Walter's careful admonishments the new King rode with his soldiers sometimes to battle against gangs of bandits and wolves. His feats won him impressive renown, and it seemed as though nothing could go wrong.

Then another year, then another, all the way until six more years had passed and Logan, now aged twenty-three, decided to take a trip to the distant land of Aurora. Nobody in the court disagreed with him but Jasper, Sir Walter, and, most inexplicably, Darrina. Jasper ever recalled the young girl, now nineteen, gripping her brother's arms before retiring to her bed, saying, "If you go, you must promise that you'll come back to me. Don't let me go through another death – I love you. Too much."

And Logan, with his Kingly air, hugged her and promised. "I love you, too."

Logan went out of contact. Just as they were about to give him up for dead a small, foreign ship sailed in and King Logan disembarked, pale, injured, and maddened. He had lost all of his men to a foreign raid and the locals there had nursed him back to life, he explained. But there was a strange, hard shell around him that hadn't been there previously. Something… strange and mysterious, dark and deadly.

"What happened there?" Walter asked of him time and time again. Each and every time Logan refused to answer. "Balls, you tell me what happened over there! What changed you?" Walter demanded.

It was the first time Jasper saw Logan lose his temper. He knew that it had began to boil and fester like an old, old wound, but he hadn't known at how big the eruption would be. He nearly killed Walter, and probably would have if the old man hadn't taken a step back to avoid the cut of the sword.

"Don't you EVER dare ask questions of that like to be again, understand?" Logan roared. "This is _my_ kingdom, and you are a part of it, _Sir._ So don't you dare demand an answer from your King when he has told you time and time again no!"

Jasper was appalled at the King's sudden change. It was a horrible transformation, and it went to Darrina, the only one he seemed to still have a soft spot for, to reach out and attempt to help him. Logan did not have a bad reaction with her, but it was still negative and no answers were gleaned. He no longer talked to people and had become exceedingly greedy and harsh with his judgments.

The worst day was when he appointed Reaver as head of Bowerstone Industrial, much to the shock and outrage of those who knew him.

It was only to get much, much worse, and Jasper had a feeling that the days in which Darrina was going to be needed as Albion's Hero were not far off at all…


End file.
